


End of Elves

by John_f_drake



Category: Forgotten Realms
Genre: Elves, F/F, F/M, Genocide, Multi, Rape, Snuff, This is a snuff story. Not everyone is going to make it, and their deaths won't be pretty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:22:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 157,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22110070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/John_f_drake/pseuds/John_f_drake
Summary: Written with DeathstalkerA revolution against the priestesses of Lolth in the underdark leads to a genocidal crusade against the surface elves. This is probably the most extreme project I've ever worked on
Kudos: 3





	1. The Birth of Empire

This is an especially brutal story, filled with torture, rape, and snuff. Be sure this is a thing you want to read before continuing. 

Created with the help and care of [Deathstalker](http://depravityrepository.org/forums/showthread.php?tid=7) and [Darinost](https://darinost.wordpress.com), without whom this story would never have been written. 

The world is an imaginatively cruel place,” Irae T’sarran lamented before allowing the flicker of a smirk to cross her face. “But the world has not yet seen the full extent of my imagination.”

The male drow standing over the high priestess of Kiaransalee did not offer his own thoughts on her comment. He was far too well trained to do such a stupid thing. Instead, he remained focused on his assigned task, running his hands across Irae’s uniquely pigmented skin to massage her lithe form into a state of utter relaxation. But as his eyes lingered on the drow’s pert buttocks, nude beneath his fingers and yet far beyond his reach, he silently agreed with the high priestess’s assessment of the world. If his touch strayed from professional massage to carnal intent for even a second, he knew he would face strict punishment. Perhaps even death. Still, there was nothing stopping him from admiring the figure laid out before him on the massage table, glistening with his special oils.

Irae T’sarran was unlike any drow woman he’d had the pleasure of servicing over the many years he’d spent as a masseuse. Her skin was a vibrant white, far removed from the various shades of obsidian that covered most drow. She lacked even a single strand of hair, neither between her legs or across the top of her smooth head. Up until Irae, he’d only heard rumors of the existence of szarkai – the albino variant of the drow. Seeing her before him – every succulent inch of her – stirred a blend of emotions within him. There was no denying the woman was quite beautiful, in an eerie way, but the pigment of her skin tickled an odd distaste in the pit of his stomach. Her prominent station – and her wealth – kept him from dwelling on that distaste, but he knew she was not wealthy enough to pay off the distate everyone in Menzoberranzan felt for her. Or, for that matter, even her own family.

Irae had been born into one of the highest houses of drow society, once upon a time. But her genetic defect – as it was called – had led to her being cast out. The easy life of power she’d been promised by birth had been taken from her before she’d even been old enough to comprehend why. It was not enough to keep her down. She’d worked hard – harder than any female in Manzoberranzan – to rise to the rank of priestess for her chosen goddess. And then she’d pushed further to become Kiransalee’s high priestess. It would have been an impressive accomplishment for a drow not born as a szarkai, but even her self-made status had not been enough to earn her family’s respect, or even much respect from the common citizens.

That had been enough to push Irae down a new path. If the high born wished not to acknowledge her, that was quite alright. She would simply take what she felt she deserved. Being looked down upon could only sting her pride so much, and it afforded her the opportunity of forging new friendships with other, similarly disrespected members of drow society. The male masseuse currently working his nimble fingers along the edges of her shoulder blades, for example. With the current matriarchal rule over drow society, he would be destined to live a life of servitude – or worse. While Irae had to admit it was nice having a man at her command whenever she wished, she was stunned that those in power were so blind to the possibility of revolt. It had been attempted before, but the outbursts had always been small, easily dealt with. But that did not mean the plan did not have merit. It simply needed the right kind of leadership and organization.

“Tell me your name,” Irae asked her masseuse. The length it took him to answer her showed just how surprised he was that she was engaging him on a personal level, even one as casual as asking his name.

“Leshrae Kiltyl, ma’am,” he finally answered.

“Tell me, Leshrae,” the high priestess purred. “Do you ever yearn for something more out of life?” She was met with awkward silence. A clear sign that Lashrae was a well-trained male, but not the answer she was searching for. She turned her head to the side, looking back at the man from over her shoulder. “It’s alright,” she assured him. “This is not some trick. I am genuinely curious.”

It took Leshrae a few moments longer to answer. When he did, it was in a hushed, conspiratorial whisper with the occasional glance around the room to make sure there wasn’t anyone else within earshot. “I suspect there aren’t many men in this city who don’t, high priestess,” he confessed.

It wasn’t much of an answer, but she allowed it. She lifted herself up from the table, turning her upper body to rest on one shoulder to look back at him more directly. She noticed his eyes shifting from her face to the breast she’d so casually exposed to him. It was the sort of break in subservience she could use to have the man thrashed. But she didn’t mind the glance. It reminded her that – despite how she was treated by the majority of her peers – she was still beautiful. “So why don’t you do something about it?” she asked bluntly.

Leshrae blushed. Not because he’d been caught glancing at her tit, but because her question worried him to such an extent. His eyes darted about the room faster, certain that he was being set up for something. “I… I would never indulge… such notions, high priestess,” he insisted.

Irae rolled her eyes and let out a disgruntled sigh, slumping back onto the table. “Then you are either a fool or a coward,” she declared. “Or both.” Several lengthy moments of awkward tension filled the room before the masseuse went back to his duties. “It’s unfortunate,” she muttered. “I would very much like to have a conversation about the politics of this city. And how they might be swayed to better serve the low born. Better serve those of us who’ve been met with only disdain and disrespect from those who think they are better than us, simply because of the color of their skin. Or the equipment between their legs, for that matter.”

She let the baited words hang in the air. She did not want to push her intentions too far or too directly, just in case the man truly was a coward. Irae had no intention of having the ember of rebellion burning at the back of her mind snuffed out due to the masseuse informing on her. It took him several more minutes before he worked up the courage to answer her.

“Well,” he said in that conspiratorial hush. “There is one man…”

A wicked grin spilled across Irae’s face. She rolled over without warning, lying her back on the massage table and letting her legs fall open. It took every ounce of self-control she had not to openly laugh at the man’s visible shock as she exposed her cunt to him. “Why don’t you tell me more about this man?” she offered as she motioned a hand to her loins. “There appears to be a knot in my muscles down there. Go ahead and see what you can do about working it out.”

Irae kept her moans to a minimum as Lashrae’s fingers massaged the soft folds of her pussy, listening closely to every detail he had regarding her potential co-conspirator. It became a good deal more difficult for her when those talented fingers wiggled their way inside her hot hole, diligently searching for any points of discomfort she might possess. But even so, she got what she needed from the masseuse – in more ways than one.

I must find this Nimor Imphraezl, she thought as the shudders of her orgasm slithered through her writhing form.

* * *

Nimor Imphraezl had accomplished much considering he was a man in a female-dominated society. If not for his draconic heritage and his lethal skills as an assassin, none of it would have been possible. But his own accomplishments meant little to him. His primary goal was seeking a means of elevating the status for all drow males. It was a lofty goal, and one that he’d not found much success with. Like so many others, he’d seen what had become of the small revolts, unplanned and easily squashed. Planning a larger scale rebellion was a tricky affair, and a lengthy one. But with each male he convinced to join his cause, he moved on step closer to accomplishing his task.

It helped that the majority of men in drow society were seen as little more than servants. It made getting agents into sensitive areas rather easy. As long as none of his recruits jumped the gun, they could deal with a significant portion of Manzoberranzan’s leadership in a single coordinated attack. But the logistics of such an attack were a nightmare. Especially with only limited information from within the highest inner circles of drow society. It would not be impossible, but Nimor faced the very real possibility that it would take him several more years before everything fell into place. And that was only if no one spoiled the surprise in that span of time.

And then, like a boon of good fortune, Irae T’sarran arrived on his doorstep. It took several long hours of linguistic dancing to decide whether she was genuinely interested in planning a revolt, or if she was simply a spy sent to uncover his plots. By the end of it, they’d convinced one another that their goals aligned well enough to work with one another. As Irae dispensed the knowledge she possessed and the access she had onto him, Nimor saw his timetable shrink with every word. Night passed into morning and then into late afternoon by the time the two had finished their discussion, each of them amazed at the plans they’d concocted. It would still not be a simple matter – nothing ever was – but the chances of success had risen significantly.

Now it was simply a matter of putting the final pieces of their plan together.

* * *

For the most part, Irae and Nimor’s rebellion needed numbers. In a city full of men who’d lived their lives as second-class citizens or worse, recruitment as a simple – but careful – routine. If a man was receptive to their plans, he was brought into the fold and given assignments. If not, they were disposed of. Nimor was quite talented at arranging the deaths and they were rarely investigated with any passion. What he’d originally seen as a lifelong quest became a matter of weeks with Irae’s assistance. The majority of their recruits were little more than fodder. Numbers to help them sway things in their favor. But there were exceptions, of course.

Grompf Baenre was one of those exceptions. As the current queen’s brother, he had access, influence, and means to prove very valuable in the oncoming rebellion. It helped that the man had no love for his sister – Queen Quenthel. Being their mother’s firstborn had afforded him the ability to attain some degree of power within Manzoberranzan, achieving the rank of arch-mage. But the power of true leadership was largely denied to him. He’d been engaging in his own form of subtle revolt with his sister for some time. Their mutual disdain for one another had led to a series of attempted assassinations on both their parts. Quenthel’s attempts came from a point of wanting to eliminate any potential threats to her.

Grompf’s motivations were a good deal more personal. His younger sister and the eldest daughter, Triel, had been meant for the throne. He’d been… close… with Triel and he’d anticipated her rise to power. Her more tempered approach to things spelled great progress for drow society as a whole. But Quenthel was a jealous cunt. So much so that she’d not even bothered to go through the means of hiring an assassin to eliminate her older sister. She’d done the deed herself. Grompf lacked the appropriate evidence to publicly accuse Quenthel, but he had no intention of letting that stop him from claiming revenge for Triel’s death. But even with his power – certainly the strongest male in Manzoerranzan – he lacked the resources to provide his little sister the brutal de-throning she so richly deserved.

When Irae arranged a private meeting and let him in on what was being planned, he was quite eager to lend his support to the cause. Grompf’s inclusion was the final nail in the coffin of drow society as it was. The time for rebellion had come.

* * *

Chaos gripped Manzoberranzan.

Aunrae Abaeir had feld her place of worship with the screams of her fellow priestesses echoing in her ears. The sticky warmth of blood clung to her frantic face. The images of the revolting men storming into the church and promptly slashing open Drisace’s throat haunted her mind. She’d been standing right next to the woman, giving her a clear view of her splitting jugular and putting her well within the range of the arterial spray that had erupted from her neck. Aunrae wasn’t sure how she’d managed to get out of the church. The whole experience had been a blur as the priestesses endured a combination of brutal butchering and violent rape. But somehow, Aunrae had escaped with her life and dignity intact. Her clothing, less so. She could feel the chill of the air against her bare breasts, forcing her nipples into stiff points as she ran through the city streets.

Violence surrounded her. She watched through tear-blurred as eyes one drow woman was forced over a barrel, cock spearing its way into her ass while another man lined up the blade of his axe with the back of her neck. She looked away before the swing, but it didn’t save her from hearing the meaty thud of the axe cleaving the woman’s head from her shoulders. Her eyes fell upon another woman, cradling her steaming guts in her hands as she choked down the length of a man’s rigid member. All of her teachings told her to help where she could, but her sense of self-preservation was too strong. She let out a terrified shriek as a couple of men spotted her and charged her way. Her legs pumped hard, doing everything she could to stay ahead of them.

Despite the chaos and the panic, Aunrae knew where she was going. With the sanctity of her church destroyed, she could think of only one place in the city where she might be safe from the revolt. The young drow was drenched in sweat and thoroughly exhausted by the time she reached her family home. She silently thanked her goddess for the good fortune to reach her destination with relative safety. Aunrae rushed into the dwelling, slamming the heavy wooden door shut behind her and barring it. It would not hold out under a persistent assault, but it would at least give her some time to collect herself before she needed to flee again. She hoped it would be enough time to gather her family, some supplies, and escape the city.

Aunrae’s husband had been in the military. She’d lost him during a border skirmish some years ago, but he’d given her two sons before his death. They’d grown into capable young men, eager to follow in their father’s footsteps. The pain of his loss had given her the incentive to keep them at home for as long as possible and, with the assistance of her father, she hoped they’d never pick up a sword. The violence she’d seen on the streets had been largely focused on women, but she had no intention of leaving her sons and father behind. She called out to them as she entered the home, lifting an arm to cover her exposed breasts.

“Istroos, Vuznet,” she cried out. “Gather your things. We need to leave now. Something’s happening. A rebellion. It’s not safe.” She hurried towards the kitchen, already mentally calculating the supplies they would need to make it out of the city and beyond. “Father?” she called. “Are you home?”

Aunrae found her family waiting for her in the kitchen. Her face filled with confusion as she spotted their seeming lack of concern. “Did you not hear me? The people have gone mad. We have to get out of here.” She clutched her arm against her breasts tighter, keeping her nudity concealed from her sons as best she could. She motioned back the way she’d come, back into the house. “Vuznet, go to my room and get me a new top. Istroos, gather food for the journey.” Her sons made no move to do as she’d told them. “Father?” she asked, dread tickling in her belly. “What is this?”

The drow priestess jumped as her sons rushed towards her. Their rough hands clamped around her soft flesh, yanking her arm away from her exposed breasts and tugged her further into the kitchen. She struggled against them, demanding that they let her go. Her head throbbed with the horror of the situation. She’d clung to the desperate hope that despite the acts of the men outside that her family was more noble than that. Istroos and Vuznet hauled their mother before their grandfather. The older drow openly admired Aunrae’s firm breasts, giving her a thin, humorless smile as he reached out to caress the mounds.

“The tides are shifting, my dear daughter,” Diraen growled out to her. “You were always so content strutting around this home, barking demands and expecting only obedience. I’m so glad you made it home safe to us. It saves us the trouble of searching the streets for you.”

Aunrae screamed as her father tore through what remained of her tattered dress. She strained to conceal her bared flesh, but Istroos and Vuznet only tightened their grip on her. They forced her down onto her knees as Diraen loosened his belt. “Time to see if you’re as good at sucking cock as your mother,” he chuckled as he pulled his stiff dick free and pushed it towards his daughter’s mouth. Aunrae clamped her lips shift, twisted her head aside. Vuznet – the stronger of her sons – grabbed hold of her jaw, fingers digging into her cheeks as he pried her mouth open for his grandfather. Looping a hand around the back of her head, Diraen gripped a fistful of his daughter’s silver hair and tugged her towards his crotch. He let out a pleased sigh as he pushed his way into her mouth, sliding across her flopping tongue and sheathing himself down her gulping throat.

Tears of horror and shame trickled from Aunrae’s bulging eyes as she choked around her father’s prick. He fucked her face with rough strokes, holding nothing back as her sons pushed in on either side of her. Their hands wandered across her naked flesh, squeezing her tits and curling into her cunt. Drool sprayed from her stretched lips as her nose mashed against Diraen’s crotch. His balls smacked against her chin with rhythmic timing. She managed to tug an arm free, bringing her clenched fist forward and pounding against her father’s waist and thighs. Diraen snared her by the wrist, putting an end to her attack until Istroos could take hold of her arm. A muffled scream worked its way up Aunrae’s stuffed gullet as her son violently twisted her arm back and jerked it free from its socket.

The pain of the dislocation was enough to kill a fair bit of Aunrae’s fight. She knelt before her father, gagging around his cock as he pumped into her. It took him several more swift strokes to reach his climax, flooding his daughter’s mouth with his thick seed. It bubbled from her stretched lips and drained down her gulping throat as she struggled not to drown in the spunk. The cock slipped free from her mouth, leaving her gasping and coughing as she dropped down onto her hands and knees. “Puh-please,” she groaned, leaving behind the domineering attitude she’d run her household with in favor of begging for mercy. “You c-can’t. I’m your daughter.” She twisted her head to the side to look at her sons. “Your mother.”

Istroos and Vuznet were too worked up from playing with Aunrea’s body and watching her face getting fucked by their grandfather to listen to anything she had to say. Vuznet hooked an arm around her slender belly, hoisting her back onto her feet. The drow priestess cried out as she was shoved over the edge of the countertop. Vuznet kept her pinned there, signaling for his younger brother to have his fun. Istroos grinned and knocked his mother’s legs further apart as he freed his erection. He spat into his hand and rubbed the saliva across her relatively dry cunt lips, preparing her only slightly for the oncoming rape. He lined himself up, holding the base of his shaft in one hand and gripping the side of Aunrae’s hip with the other.

“Is this how he did it, mother?” he asked with a cruel laugh, ramming his cock into Aunrae’s clenching pussy. “Is this how Father impregnated you?”

Aunrae only responded with pained shrieks as her son thrust deeply into her sex, but a shudder of sickened revulsion washed over her as she realized that the answer to Istroos’ question was yes. Her horror rose further as she realized that her son’s member felt far too similar to her dead husband’s. Roughly the same length, with that same unique little curve to it that was so perfect for striking her womanhood in just the right way. The jolts of unwanted pleasure radiating up from her loins proved too much for her. Her face filled with awkward strain for a moment before she promptly puked up the deposit her father had fed her. The gooey blend of jizz and bile splattered across the countertop before her.

“Look at that, mother,” Vuznet chided with a shake of his head. “You’ve gone and made a mess. Should I fetch the mop and bucket to clean it up? Or would you like me to finish polishing your boots first?” He did neither, instead deciding to grip his mother by the back of the head and force her face against the messy slop she’d expelled. “Lick it up, you bitch,” he growled. “Like you always used to tell us, you do not let good food go to waste. Lick it up or I’ll be forced to take Father’s belt to you. Just like you did to us when we were younger.”

Too overwhelmed by the madness that had found its way into the heart of her family, Aunrae obeyed. She dragged her tongue through the foul slop covering the counter, struggling to swallow it down between her fitful sobs. Her stomach was still uneasy, but she fought against the urge to puke again as she cleaned the counter with her tongue. Istroos’ cock slammed steadily into her snatch, moving much easier due to the lubrication he’d fucked out of her thanks to his uniquely curved member. She’d only licked up a small portion of the cum-puke before Vuznet decided he’d seen enough. Yanking her head up from the counter, he twisted her to face him. Istroos hugged her hips, holding her against him as his brother worked her off of the counter and pulled her head down to his exposed member.

“Here’s something for that filthy mouth of yours,” he declared as he pushed his erection past her lips. Aunrae’s sobs became muffled around her eldest son’s prick. The two young men shared a wide grin across the sweaty backside of their thoroughly stuffed mother. Istroos thrust forward, fucking Aunrae against Vuznet’s crotch. Then it was Vuznet’s turn to repay the favor. Bent over before them, she shifted back and forth between the pair of erections, tits swaying beneath her from the rough strokes they delivered. Istroos didn’t withdraw when he felt his climax grow near. He happily pumped his creamy spunk deep into his mother’s cunt, hoping that at least one of his sperm managed to find its way into one of her eggs. He quite liked the idea of getting to raise a son-brother. He liked the idea of having a daughter-sister even better. There would be no shortage of female flesh to purchase in the wake of the rebellion, but what was the point of purchasing a new bitch to add to their collection when they had the means of breeding them within the family?

* * *

Laran Hala had been having a pleasant meal in the tavern when the rebellion started. She’d hardly heard the start of the commotion taking place outside when the young man who’d been serving her smashed the mug of ale across the back of her head. She’d slumped over the table, faceplanting into her plate of half-eaten food. Laran wasn’t unconscious for long, but when she came around, the revolt was well underway. She let out a gasp, face grimacing with pain, and then a sharp scream as she realized the fleshy stiffness ramming its way up her asshole was the cock of her former server. Nauseating dizziness rolled through her as she lifted her head, feeling her hair sticky from her bleeding scalp. She cried out again as the young man snared a fistful of her hair and yanked her head further back, forcing her breasts up from the table she’d been draped across.

“So glad you’re awake,” the server growled into her ear. “Your ass is already clenching around my dick much more nicely. And I was worried you were going to miss all the fun.”

The ‘fun’ he referred to looked like anything but that in Laran’s eyes. Disoriented and horrified by the sudden shift in societal niceties taking place around her, she was helpless to do much more than take her rapist’s cock and witness the plights of her fellow women transpiring within the tavern.

Sasniss Faertal had come into the tavern seeking only a simple drink, some ale to quench her thirst before going on with her day. Instead, the bartender had pulled her over the bar top. Several hard smacks across the face and a solid punch to the gut had left her too disoriented to defend herself. The man laid her out on the counter, tearing through her clothing as he climbed over her. Knocking her legs apart, he plunged his stiff length into her vulnerable snatch. Sasniss screamed for help that wasn’t coming as the bartender hammered into her, lips kissing and sucking at her jiggling tits. The man spewed his seed into her clenching pussy, but he’d tolerated far too many haughty drow women wearing low-cut tops to feel satisfied. His cock remained firm as he fucked his way through his first orgasm.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he growled down at the woman, words dripping with mockery. “You were thirsty.” He closed his fingers around Sasniss’s throat, squeezing hard enough to choke her. As her mouth gaped open before him, wild eyes filled with fear, he reached out to snag a full mug of ale. He held it over her head as he pumped into her, tilting the mug to the side and pouring the liquid into her open mouth. With her esophagus mostly squeezed shut, she struggled to swallow the ale, hacking up what she couldn’t consume. It was an impressive feat, but the bartender had plenty more ale to give her. Chucking the empty mug aside, he grabbed a second one and repeated the process. “Go ahead and drown in it, bitch,” he told her as he poured. “Won’t stop me from fucking you.”

Sasniss’s face and hair became soaked with ale. It gurgled at the back of her throat. She managed to make it through two more mugs-worth of ale before the blend of strangling and drowning took their toll on her. The bartender let out a laugh as she flopped about beneath him, unintentionally grinding her crotch up to meet his swift thrusts. He watched the foam pour over her lips and chin, wide terrified eyes staring up at him as she died. Sasniss managed a final, linger wet rattle as her flailing shifted into spastic shudders. The bartender came again into her dying snatch, hoping she got to feel at least a few of the hot globs of his spunk shooting into her before her life blinked out. He slid free of her messy snatch, tired but not finished. He scooped up Sasniss’s inert form, rolling her over so he could admire her perky, lifeless ass. Gripping his half-wilted shaft in his hand, he pumped himself back to a full erection before dropping back over the dead drow, ready to plunder a fresh hole.

As the proprietor of the tavern, Micarlin Blundyth had enjoyed all of the profits and benefits the business had to offer. She’d been in her office, going through the books and calculating the expansion of her wealth, when the rebellion started. When the group of employees and customers barged into the room, she’d sprung to her feet, demanding explanations for the invasion of privacy. They’d responded to her demands with a thorough beating before clearing her desk of the extensive paperwork strewn across it. They tore away at her clothing to gain access to the pleasant flesh hiding beneath it. A couple of the men turned their attention to the lockbox she kept the tavern’s earnings in, smashing it open and filling their pockets with her money. The rest seemed less interested in robbing her, instead focusing on whatever pleasures they could milk from her body.

Micarlin was twisted and wrestled into a variety of uncomfortable positions as the men took her, stuffing her various orifices with their eager members. The news that the tavern owner was very much on the menu passed through the establishment, ensuring that she had no reprieve from the violent gangrape. Micarlin could do nothing more than hope that this revolt was another small outburst. That the city’s guard would soon arrive to put an end to it. She imagined all of the terrible things she planned on doing to the men who’d taken advantage of her. She wondered what sort of bribes she would have to pay to allow for the display of stretched and tanned skins displayed on her walls. Maintaining a public display of the cost of such transgressions seemed like a wise move to dissuade future outbursts.

Micarlin got a sense of just how bad things were when one of her servers came into the office holding the severed head of a drow woman. The woman’s face was constricted with horror and suffering. She stared into Laran’s dead eyes as the server forced her to make out with the head, exchanging the backwash of jizz in her mouth for the stale seed leaking from the dead woman’s lips while her bartender pushed his overworked dick through her cleavage. But it wasn’t until someone with some apparent authority arrived that Micarlin realized this was not just another small burst of chaotic revolt.

Pulled from the rape-orgy, Micarlin could barely stand as the thick manacles were snapped closed around her wrists and ankles. Some of her clothing had survived the prolonged assault. It clung to her skin, soaked through with a myriad of bodily fluids, as she was ushered out of her office. She stared at the destruction littering her tavern, seeing numerous female bodies. She suspected the head she’d made out with had come from the decapitated corpse propped into a chair with her legs spread wide and a steady flow of jizz leaking from her thoroughly violated snatch. Another corpse was draped over the bar top. Several more littered the floor. A few of the women in the tavern were still alive, still in the midst of one form of rape or the other. One had been strung up in the middle of the room, barely clinging to life as her legs kicked about wildly. Her hands clawed at the rope cinching her throat closed, bulging eyes filled with panic. The hanging drow was still flailing about at the end of her rope as Micarlin was led out of her tavern and into the clutches of the rebellion.

* * *

Just as Irae and Nimor had suspected, their coordinated assault and orchestrated chaos had happened too fast for Quenthel to organize an effective response. The revolt raged on for three straight days before the bulk of the resistance was dealt with. Quenthel and a few of her advisors had managed to escape into hiding, but plans were already in motion to hunt her down. Large portions of Menzoberranzan had fallen under the rebellion’s control. The military leader – Iymace Kilduis – had pulled back from the occupied sections. With her numbers sorely reduced, she’d had no choice, shifting her focus to smaller battles committed using guerilla tactics. It seemed to be a no-win scenario, but the woman was battle hardened and a skill strategist. Even with a limited supply of soldiers, she still posed a significant threat to the rebellion.

But even with the city in shambles and victory not yet a certainty, Irae and Nimor saw no reason not to embolden their forces with shows of their strength. While they turned their minds towards dealing with the last of their enemy, they scheduled a number of public executions to keep their group entertained. A beast of a drow by the name of Ilmdus Miezzael was appointed head executioner and left to arrange and conduct the displays of gruesome demise for a portion of the prisoners that had been taken during the initial revolt. Considering he’d gleefully butchered his own daughter before striding out into the streets to start hacking his way through the panicked civilians during the start of the rebellion, he was a perfect choice. Doubly so, as neither Irae nor Nimor had ever recruited the man. He’d simply seen the opportunity and taken it. He was not the only drow male to do so, but he was – by far – the most bloodthirsty.

The makeshift execution arena erected in the town square had no shortage of options when it came to dispatching the unfortunate women scheduled for termination. There was a gallows equipped with four nooses to allow for hangings in groups, a guillotine for prompt decapitations, a burning post, and a myriad of weapons and tools to choose from. Ilmdus had entertained the masses for a good portion of a day by seeing just how much skin he could peel off of a defiant soldier bitch before she died. As it happened, the answer had been quite a lot of skin. But with a trio of women scheduled for execution and an eager crowed waiting to see the bloodshed, the man knew he could not indulge his desires to quite such an extent.

The women brought to him varied in looks and dispositions, but each and every one of them shared a couple similar traits. They’d all been brutally raped and tortured extensively before being delivered to him, and they would all be quite dead by the time they left him. The method of their snuffing was left for him to decide, with the occasional suggestion from the audience. He was, however, allowed – if not encouraged – to satiate his carnal needs with as many of the women as he liked before doing away with them. Ilmdus found he preferred the pleasures of dead flesh to living – something he’d discovered as he’d rammed his cock up the back of his daughter’s severed throat. But he was not above indulging in a bit of pre-mortem rape for the enjoyment of his audience. Occasionally, he even found means of dispatching his victims with his monstrous member, but he saved those deaths for a certain class of prisoner. Of the three he had to choose from, none of them were worthy enough for such a gloriously depraved end.

There was Brigandrith Illarr, barely a grown woman and yet she’d been tasked with fighting. The rebellion had been the rookie’s first taste of battle and she’d not had long to get the hang of it. She’d wound up being the sole survivor of her unit, treated to the sights and sounds of her fellow women being raped and ripped apart around her while she’d remained untouched, too terrified to even draw her sword. She’d not known a cock until after she’d been captured, but since, she’d grown far too accustomed to them over the short period of her incarceration. The way she stood there, hands clasped in front of her, shivering and staring vacantly into nothingness, she might as well have been dead already.

Ilmdus considered that a challenge. The bitch was there to provide entertainment. He had every intention of making her do so. A lingering demise seemed the most fitting for her, but one that would force her to engage – even instinctively. He prepared a noose for her, tugging her up onto the gallows and letting the crowd ogle her young, petite form. Usually, he liked to hang the ones with a bit more meat on their bones. The sight of jiggling flesh never failed to stir the crowd into a frenzy of excitement. But for Brigandrith, he would make an exception. If the initial drop didn’t jolt her out of her state of shock, he was certain the lengthy hanging would. He pulled the noose over her head and tightened it around her throat, careful to position the rope in such a way that it would not break her scrawny neck when it pulled closed around her. With the rookie soldier’s end prepared, Ilmdus turned his attention to the remaining two women.

Qualnva Aleghym had been a priestess before her thoroughly raped form had fallen into custody. She was livelier than Brigandrith, but only just. She kept her head down, eyes closed, lips muttering out a litany of prayers to her goddess. Ilmdus had seen that sort of behavior before. The ones who prayed had a tendency to start praying to him before the end came. She didn’t require as lengthy a demise as the rookie, but she’d nee a good deal of pain before she was ready to snuff out. Dragging Qualnva onto the stage, he moved her over to the whipping board. He tugged away the tattered remnants of her robe before strapping her face down onto the board, leaving her smooth backside and plump ass on full display for the crowd. He could have a good deal of fun whipping the piety out of her while Brigandrith hung. But before he could get started on that, he had one last victim to deal with. His show-starter.

Jhaellin T’iom was another soldier, but far more experienced than Brigandrith. She’d remained defiant through the initial rapes before her capture and even throughout the abuses she’d endured while being a prisoner. As she tugged at her bindings and aimed deadly glares at everyone around her, Ilmdus could see she was itching for a fight, an opportunity to prove that her failure up until that point had simply been a streak of bad luck. She’d gladly put on an entertaining show for the crowd, but the interest in her would wane before long. The perfect victim to get things started. Ilmdus pulled her up onto the stage with him. She twisted away from his grip and spat a thick wad of saliva onto his broad chest.

“You will pay for this,” she hissed at her executioner before turning her ire upon the group gathered to watch her end. “You will all pay for this. When we’ve reclaimed this city, your heads will line the streets. Those that live will be branded as traitors and banished into the wilderness. You’ll carry out your days consumed by the shame you’ve brought upon yourselves and your families. You’ll die alone and abandoned, a miserable death for miserable people. And I’ll be there. Somehow, I’ll be there for all of it. I’ll watch you crumble and fade away and I will laugh.” The crowd laughed and booed at her defiant monologue, but Jhaellin was too caught up in it to notice that Ilmdus had stepped away from her. “Queen Qunethel will have her revenge! And the light of the pyres made from your corpses will be seen for miles.” She lifted her head, looking to the sky with eyes brimming with tears of pride, unintentionally giving the executioner a clear target. “I will watch it all, and I will lau – “

The broadsword met the side of Jhaellin’s neck, cleaving through meat and bone with a swift stroke. Her head was sent into the air, riding the top of the geyser of blood erupting from her severed neck. Her body snapped rigid, remaining on her feet as her head dropped to the stage floor with a hard thud. The head rolled about awkwardly before landing on its side, muscular tremors creeping through her shocked face. As blood rained across her nude form, her headless corpse stumbled about on the stage, deaf to the cheers from the crowd. She dropped to one knee, plump breasts shoved forward as her left shoulder underwent a series of spastic jerks backwards, twisting her torso to the side. The body fell forward, tits smacking against the blood-stained wood of the stage as her athletic legs kicked out, stretching straight before crumpling inwards, humping an invisible lover as piss gushed from her loins. Ilmdus planted a boot against her hip and shoved her body onto its side, allowing her wild flailing to continue as blood drained from her neck stump. With the floppy thudding the soldier’s headless husk pounding away and the cheers of the crowd continuing to roll through the arena, Ilmdus made his way back to the gallows.

Stepping next to Brigandrith and resting his hand against the lever that would seal her fate, he saw the rookie had managed to shake herself free of at least some of the daze she’d been in. “Are you with us, little one?” the executioner asked.

Brigandrith managed a nod, but her eyes remained fixed on Jhaellin’s still twitching body. Ilmdus gave it a look as well. “Did you know her?” he asked.

Another nod. It looked like she wanted to say something, but she couldn’t get her lips to stop trembling long enough to get the words out. Whatever it was, it didn’t much matter.

“She’s gone, little one,” Ilmdus confided. “But she still has some use left in her. When she finishes kicking about like that, I’ll toss her into the crowd. Try to keep the tears out of your eyes long enough and you’ll see what they do to her. You should know, when you’re finished, I’ll do the same with you.” He watched the knowledge sinking into the rookie’s traumatized mind. And, just like that, she was back to being a paralyzed victim. Ilmdus sighed. He’d hoped for more from her, but he wasn’t finished trying to get it. He tugged at the lever and the trapdoor swung out from beneath Brigandrith’s feet. She managed half a squeak as she dropped before the noose cinched tightly around her thin throat. She wasn’t fully strangled yet, but even the insignificant weight of her body would be enough to do her in eventually. The shock of the drop and the pain around her throat seemed to be enough to get her properly squirming. For the moment, that would be enough.

The priestess was still praying when Ilmdus returned to her, but she was still offering those prayers to the wrong deity. He was the only god she needed to worry about any longer. It was time to show her as much. Selecting one of the nastier whips he had at his disposal – the one with a half-dozen ends lined with twisted lengths of rusted metal – the executioner went to work. The first lash was enough to open up several light gouges across the drow woman’s back, stretching from one shoulder blade halfway down to her ass. She did not hold back the scream of pain, but in its wake she only began to pray louder, calling out to her goddess for salvation. Ilmdus continued to lash away at her, ripping open her back and buttocks. Blood flowed steadily down her length, curling around her quivering ass cheeks and down her shuddering thighs. Qualnva’s shrieks of agony blended with Brigandrith’s gurgles of slow strangling to create a symphony of suffering for the rowdy crowd observing the dual executions. He’d forgotten to kick Jhaellin’s corpse to them, but the audience was not above stepping in to lend the executioner some assistance. Her headless husk was dragged into their midst, stuffed full of their rigid pricks. Against her better judgement, Brigandrith managed to blink the tears of pain from her eyes long enough to watch the defiant soldier’s body being violated. The sight of it, along with the growing urgency in her half-strangled lungs, was enough to get her really dancing in the air.

Tugging the barbed whip free from Qualnva’s devastated back, Ilmdus leaned in close to her. “Who do you worship?” he growled. The tortured priestess responded with a whimper, naming her goddess. With an annoyed snarl, the executioner tossed the whip aside and stuffed his hand into the open sack of rock salt he had for especially troublesome victims. He chucked the salt across the tattered flesh of Qualnva’s back, delighting in her howls of fresh agony. When she got through the pain, he leaned in again and repeated his question.

“Y-you,” she groaned out, barely a whisper. The word was harsh thanks to the ravaging her throat had suffered from all the screaming.

Only minimally satisfied, Ilmdus rotated the whipping board so that Qualnva was forced to look out into the crowd of people cheering her suffering along. “Louder,” he barked, smacking his open palm – still layered in a bit of salt – against her ruined posterior. The priestess’s eyes bulged, releasing another scream and nearly passing out from the pain. “Who do you worship, priestess?”

“You!” she managed to scream. “All of you! You are all my god now! I am your dutiful servant! Simply ask and I shall deliver!”

Ilmdus chuckled as he palmed a curved dagger. “Was that so hard?” he asked, bringing the blade up against Qualnva’s throat. He opened it up with a smooth slice, watching the shock roll through her face as a heavy spurt of crimson erupted from her gashed open neck. The woman died slower than Jhaellin, but not as slowly as Brigandrith, listening to the wild applause from the audience as she bled out over the back of the whipping board. She was still drifting towards death when Ilmdus loosened her restraints. Her weak form collapsed onto the stage, one heavy hand moving slowly to clutch at the slice splitting her neck open. The executioner hefted her body up and chucked her nearly dead form into the waiting embrace of the crowd. She would live long enough to feel the first erection wedging its way into her severed esophagus.

With two out of three of the executions completed, those that weren’t enjoying the spoils turned their eyes to the final woman. Brigandrith was really hanging and putting on a surprisingly impressive performance for them. Her petite frame swayed at the end of her rope, legs kicking about in the air, clenching toes stretching towards the floor. Her bulging eyes were full of panic and regret, the peaks of her perky tits standing at rigid attention. It seemed she’d finally discovered her fighting spirit, at the very end when it would do her little good. Wet gurgles poured out of her gaping mouth as she struggled to breathe through her pinhole-sized windpipe. Every inch of her slender figure glistened with the sweat pouring out of her. Her body turned at the end of the rope, offering the audience a tantalizing view of her tight ass clenching and releasing. She’d been hanging for a good while already and, by the look of it, she still had a long ways to go before she finally died. With no other prisoners waiting to die and the crowd still enjoying the show, Ilmdus saw no reason to hurry things along.

The rookie would be a warm corpse before too long. And then Ilmdus would satisfy his own urges with her remains before tossing the leftovers to the audience.

* * *

Not all of the women captured by the rebellion were offered up to Ilmdus’ execution events. Only those deemed unworthy of other uses. The revolution would not have been possible without the contributions of certain members. Nimor had brought up the possibility of rewarding those members for their efforts with some of the surplus of female flesh they now had in stock. Irae had loved the idea. And with Iymace beaten back and forced to assume a solely defensive posture with her dwindling supply of troops, she had no trouble devoting some time arranging the delivery of a few special trophies to those that had aided them the most.

* * *

For his part in leading her to Nimor, Irae had been happy to track down a priestess who’d frequented Lashrae’s massage parlor. He’d admitted to Irae that he had a special infatuation with the woman. He’d even attempted going through the appropriate courting ritual with her, only to have her openly laugh off his attempts before declaring his intentions publicly. The attempt had earned Lashrae a severe punishment for fraternizing with a customer, enough to kill any interest he had in the priestess romantically. 

But not sexually.

Aunrae would have been overjoyed to learn that not all of her fellow priestesses had been slaughtered during the initial stage of the revolt, but that joy would have soured if she’d learned that survival was not the gift it should have been. She’d have recalled the afternoon Amagara Baenreond had returned from her weekly massage with a tale of a brash masseuse who’d dare to attempt to court her. She’d have recalled joining in on the laughter and mockery of the man. But she’d not have been able to remember the masseuse’s name. In her current situation – with both of her sons attempting to ram their pricks up her gaping asshole simultaneously – she couldn’t be blamed for the lapse of memory. In the grand scheme of things, it didn’t matter. She would never learn of Amagara’s unfortunate fate at all.

Upon accepting delivery of his reward, Lashrae intended to do everything he could to make sure that Amagara would never forget his name. If he broke her just right, he was certain he could make sure it was the only thing she remembered. He’d intended to do so regardless, but the look of disgust she’d flashed him upon seeing just who she was being given to cemented his intention. He strapped her down to a massage table – the same one she’d lain across so many times previously – and went about giving his new plaything her initial inspection. He explored her body thoroughly with just his hands first, fingers tracing over the curves of her buttocks and along the sides of her ribs, before slipping beneath her to give her plump breasts a hard squeeze. When the exploration concluded, he satisfied himself with spanking her upturned rump, listening to her whimpered discomfort as he watched her flesh ripple from the repeated impacts of his palm. He jerked himself off over her ass, layering her aching cheeks with his seed before working the deposit into her pours with his talented fingers. Amagara would remain bound to the table, enduring the eruption of his creamy bodily secretions across her flawless flesh followed by his perverted new style of massage therapy until she became so thoroughly soaked with his seed that she would continue to reek of his cum long after he’d finished with her. Before long, the smell would drive her mad, until the former priestess would do anything if only to feel his jizz on her skin, his fingers working it into her pours. Amagara would become his eager cum-craving pet. And when she crawled to him, begging for what dwell within his balls, he would occasionally give in and laugh in her face as he waved his prick in front of her. A fitting slice of revenge.

* * *

After being taken captive and seeing the full extent of the rebellion ravaging its way through Menzoberranzan, Micarlin had not expected to see her tavern again. As she was led back into the place only scant days later, she wished she’d never had to see what had become of it. There were still signs of the initial revolt, bloodstains and broken furniture. The body of the drow woman who’d been strung up had been removed, but the makeshift noose remained. It was enough to send a shudder down Micarln’s spine, remembering the way she’d heard the woman gurgling out urgently, no doubt begging for help as she’d died. But even that revulsion paled in comparison to the discovery of who’d taken charge of her beloved tavern in her absence.

Nalgo Hylaerth had been a good bartender. He knew how to mix drinks and banter with customers. Micarlin had tolerated the passes he’d made at her over the years. And she’d punished him appropriately the few times she’d caught him stealing from her. She’d not considered him a friend, but she’d thought there’d been some degree of mutual respect between them. Less so on her part, but she’d at least considered him a semi-loyal employee. Deep down, she’d hoped that his behavior during the revolt had simply been him getting caught up in all of the excitement, taking advantage of the situation. Finding him in charge of the tavern now and herself being presented to him as a reward for his assistance in the rebellion cast a new, twisted light on what had actually happened that day.

The outburst of violence within the tavern had not been random. It had simply been one of many staged events taking place across the city. Nalgo had been recruited due to his somewhat elevated position in the establishment and he’d talked the other servers into going along with it. It hadn’t taken much convincing, especially after Nalgo revealed just how much of the tavern’s profits Micarlin kept for herself. A few of the male regulars in the tavern had agreed to take part as well. The rest had simply gone along with the event once it broke out. The promises of reform given to them by Nimor and Irae suited Nalgo and the others just fine, but they’d agreed to go along with the outburst for a different reason. They’d simply wanted to give Micarlin the hard fucking they figured she deserved. Now, for his part in the rebellion, Nalgo was being rewarded. She was to be his slave.

Micarlin’s captors had not passed along any of the details of what had transpired. She’d learned it from Nalgo shortly after passing into his possession. He’d been happy to gloat to her about how well he’d played her as he’d made her suck him off. The former tavern owner’s bleak mood only worsened as Nalgo painted her face with his cum, listening to what he had planned for her life. She would work as his serving wench when she wasn’t busy being his whore. He’d already purchased a number of inappropriately revealing outfits for her to wear while she was working. “But don’t worry, my dear,” he assured her as he stroked his fingers across her left breast. “You’re not just my whore. You’re the tavern whore. If a customer’s got the silver, he’s got your holes.”

Laying her down over the bed – what used to be her bed – Nalgo rubbed his stiffening member and climbed over her. He eased his way into her cunt from behind, taking his time violating her this time. They’d been in such a rush before and he really wanted to enjoy himself this time. Staring at the headboard as Nalgo fucked her, Micarlin dwelled in the newfound misery of her captivity. Then her former bartender muttered off a remark that chilled her blood. “I wonder if that kid sister of yours survived the rebellion,” Nalgo pondered. “I’ll need more bitches in this place to really make a profit.”

* * *

Breaking down captured soldiers into obedient sex slaves tended to go one of two ways. There were the defiant ones, clinging to their training to maintain bravery in the face of total defeat. Those ones tended to wind up being executed. Breaking them would take time and resources the rebellion could not afford to spare. Other soldiers broke with surprising ease. Perhaps it had something to do with the regimented training they’d undergone learning to obey orders without question. Being an obedient servant wasn’t much different aside from the details. Instead of being ordered to break through the enemy lines and establish a secure perimeter, they were ordered to crawl around on the floor and shake their asses. Considering the survival rate of a slave was marginally higher than that of a soldier, embracing the change in profession wasn’t quite so outlandish.

After her capture, Quarril Melrret had fallen into the latter camp. To say she was pleased with the change would have been a vast overstatement, but she could tolerate being someone’s slave if it meant she got to go on living. When the orders came down that she was to be transferred from the holding cell to a more permanent station, she took them in stride. Delivery was made without incident and she went along with her integration into her new life without complaint. The man she’d been gifted to was Antomph Claddval, a captain in the rebellion’s ragtag group of military units. She’d met him previously, during the initial revolt. Her unit had been dispatched to break up a group of disorderly men making their way through the streets. She’d not thought much of the assignment or the rabble they’d been tasked with putting down. Not until Antomph had launched his surprise attack.

Half of Quarril’s unit had been cut down in the initial attack. Several more had died in the subsequent skirmish before their ranks had been broken. If she’d known the man who’d forced her to suck him off on the streets would soon become her master, Quarril might have behaved differently at the time. The sense of pride she’d felt when she’d clamped her teeth closed around his erection was gone. Now she only feared what he’d do to her in return now that she belonged to him. That fear had Quarril on her best behavior as she waited in the man’s office for his arrival. She was nude, skin glistening with oil. The position she held might have been considered an appropriate military stance if not for the perversity of it. Her legs were parted and held straight, creating a V-shape that lead directly to her loins. She was bent forward over the man’s desk, arms at her sides and fingers curling around to clutch her buttocks, presenting her cunt and asshole for inspection.

Quarril’s tense muscles began to quiver with exhaustion as she was left to wait there for dragging hours. When she heard the door to the office finally click open, she breathed a sigh of relief, but otherwise maintained her passively obedient expression. She winced as Antomph gripped her by the hair and forced her to stand, feeling a spasm running its way through her back. He pulled her around to face him, leveling a smug smile at her. “I’ve been told you no longer have a problem keeping that mouth of yours open,” he growled. “But forgive me for wanting to make sure.” Quarril did not resist as he pulled her jaw open and worked the specially crafted mouth gag past her lips. The taste of rusted metal assaulted her tongue as the sharp points of the gag curled around to press into the skin around her lips. He tightened the strap securely at the base of her skull, ensuring that it would not slip out of place. Despite the foul taste and the pain of the gag, Quarril understood Antomph’s desire to use it. As he ordered her onto her knees and slid his bruised prick into her mouth, she hoped that one day she would earn the right to remove the gag.

For the time being, she focused on sucking her new master off.

* * *

Irae and Nimor were mere hours away from a martial victory over the previous regime ruling over Menzoberranzan. Iymace had been driven into a mere few square blocks of city with only a handful of troops left at her disposal. The woman still posed some threat, but the delay in finishing her off came more from a standpoint of needing to take her alive. Queen Quenthel had managed to keep herself hidden throughout the revolt. If anyone knew where she was, it was Iymace. Beyond simple intelligence gathering, the military leader was a high priority target. Breaking her down and sentencing her to a painful demise would do wonders for the rebels, another notch on their victory belts. While Iymace spent her time futilely attempting to figure out a way to escape her certain defeat, Irae worked with the rebel military to come up with a sound strategy for snaring the woman.

Nimor had other pressing matters to attend to. Those of a religious nature. With all the good fortune he’d met with over the last few weeks and victory well within sight, it seemed wise to cover any potential means of bad luck that could befall them. The Arachnid Caverns lay just outside of the city. The oversized spiders that dwelled within them were seen as lesser incarnations of the Spider Queen. There’d been a time in drow history when a great number of sacrifices had been made to the creatures, but now they were a less common affair, mostly reserved for undesirables in need of disappearing or the occasional young drow too stupid to know better than to wander into the caverns. In the past, sacrifices had typically been male. And while Nimor’s personal deity – Vhaeraun – had no love for the Spider Queen, he suspected the lesser god would appreciate the sacrifice he had put together for the arachnids. Lolth would be satisfied with whatever blood was shed in her name. Vhaeraun would look favorably on the rise of a male to power in drow society and the decision to sacrifice a clutch of women to his mother’s pets.

Nimor and the group of guards he’d enlisted to help him escort the batch of sacrifices did not dare enter the caverns. They prodded the line of enslaved drow females along, forcing them into the dark passages with the knowledge that none of them would ever return. The bulk of the sacrifices were made up of the women too broken to provide entertaining executions, or too undesirable to make decent slaves, but there were one or two prime cuts of female flesh in the mix. Those diamonds amongst the coal were meant as the true gifts to the gods. The rest were simply garnish. The giant spiders did not care about the quality of their victims, but they were quite excited at the quantity of them.

One of the diamonds, Dhaunafay Arkenviir, had spent the bulk of her life in luxury. Her voluptuous, soft figure made that obvious. She’d been a private performer for Queen Quenthel. When the queen had abandoned her castle, Dhaunafay had been left behind. She’d put up no fight when the rebels had stormed her home. Even knowing what lay in wait within the Arachnid Caverns, she went along without incident. She did manage a rather impressive scream when she saw one of the massive spiders descend from the ceiling above her. Dhaunafay was pulled into the arachnid’s clutches, sticky webbing binding her with even more firmness than the rusty manacles around her wrists. Carried up to the ceiling and left suspended, she had a clear view of the horrors transpiring within the caverns.

Lyberra Rhomdossz was one of the coal. She was older, but age had not diminished her beauty. Her life as a soldier, on the other hand, had taken a toll on her. Her dark skin was marred with a myriad of scars, including one that crossed her face from the top of her forehead down across one eye and curving along her cheek. She’d been allowed to keep her eyepatch, only because the vacant pit where her right eye had been before the wound unnerved the men who’d had their fun raping her before she’d been picked to be a sacrifice. As she watched the women around her being snatched up by the spiders, hauled off to become food or deposits for the creatures’ eggs, a spark of her warrior spirit managed to stir within her.

She broke away from the group, darting deeper into the spider lair. Escaping the cavern was her primary goal, but she needed some way of fighting her way through the men guarding the entrance. Her eye shifted from side to side, searching for some kind of weapon. With her hands bound in front of her, defending herself would be tricky but not impossible. Lyberra breathed a sigh of relief, tried to block out the sounds of screams surrounding her, as she spotted a broken length of bone several feet away. She hurried for the bone, bending forward to scoop it into her hands. Lyberra turned, ready to slash and stab her way to freedom. Instead, she let loose with her own scream, joining the symphony of suffering surrounding her as a spider – small compared to some of the others – leapt at her.

The weight of the spider forced Lyberra to the ground. She managed to angle the broken bone away so that it wouldn’t plunge into her body. She jerked it upwards with all the strength she had, managing to pierce the spider’s underside. The thing let out a high-pitched chittering shriek into her face before stretching its mandibles wide and sinking its fangs into her neck. The pain of the penetration hit her first. She clenched her jaw and rammed the bone deeper into the spider, skewering it as it unleashed a fatal dose of venom into her veins. Lyberra managed to pierce something vital within the spider. The creature let out a shudder before slumping into death on top of her. Even if the ex-soldier had the strength to lift the carcass off of her, she lacked the time. The venom was already ravaging her from within, preparing her as a tasty snack for whatever spider happened upon her next.

Lyberra’s body shuddered and jerked beneath the corpse of her arachnid killer. Bloody foam spewed from her sputtering lips as her innards were broken down into a nutrient-rich slop. Thick blood leaked from her asshole and cunt, dribbled form her nostrils and leaked from her solitary eye like crimson tears. The hollow pit of her missing eye became clogged with the slop before it managed to ooze from the edges of her eyepatch. She lived several minutes longer than the spider that had attacked her, but they were minutes spent in excruciating agony until enough of her inner workings had dissolved to finally bring her life to an end. The spider carcass was dragged off of the woman’s body, dragged off to become another meal for the hive. The creatures had no qualms about cannibalism. By that time, Lyberra’s body had become a swollen sack of juicy fluids, a ready feast for the spiders as they sank their fangs into her and proceeded to slurp up her liquified organs.

Dhaunafay had seen the ex-soldier’s attempted escape. She’d seen the spider creeping up on her before the fatal attack. But she’d not been in any position to call out and warn the woman. Her spider captor had positioned itself behind her. A fleshy proboscis extended from the arachnid’s abdomen, curling around and sheathing itself within the dancer’s cunt. Dhaunafay wailed as thick rubbery eggs were pumped into her writhing form, squeezed into her uterus. She’d never had a fighter’s physique, but she’d always taken pride in her body. Watching as her stomach deformed, bulging awkwardly out, sickened her more than the knowledge that she was being stuffed full of the unhatched offspring of the monster violating her.

With dozens of eggs crammed into her reproductive system, the spider withdrew its proboscis from Dhaunafay’s sex. It repositioned itself slightly before driving forward again, stretching her asshole open. The drow dancer wailed as more eggs were stuffed into her bowels, thoroughly plugging her ass and sliding deeper along her intestinal tract. Her belly expanded to obscene proportions. She’d never entertained the notion of having a child, too worried about what the process would do to her body. The insanity tickling its way through her mind told her she’d made the right choice as she looked down at what was being done to her. There was no way she would ever be able to recover her flawless physique, even if she wasn’t destined to die as the spider’s offspring hatched and ate their way through her.

To Dhuanafay’s left and right, she saw other women suspended as she was, each of their bodies equally filled with eggs. Some of the women screamed wildly, bulging eyes filled with panicked madness. Others appeared to be passed out. Maybe dead. She certainly felt as if she could die as her skin stretched taut, the internal pressure of her body driven to the limits of what it could handle. She watched as one screaming woman’s head was engulfed in the massive maw of her spider rapist. With a wet crunch, the spider bit down, ending the woman’s screams and reducing her head into a gory pulp. Blood and thick chunks of brain and bone splattered into the dead drow’s cleavage before sliding away to plop to the floor below. The gruesome sight was enough to make Dhaunafay puke. She choked as she retched, feeling a solid lump of something squeezing its way up her throat. She stared in sickened horror as one of the many eggs that had been pushed into her plopped from her stretched lips. The fleshy sack bounced off her left breast before spinning its way to the ground, smashing open against a rock.

Dhaunafay’s head spun, vision going grey. As the spider finished filling her body with eggs, she slumped in the webbing, passing out. The pain of the spiders hatching inside her would draw her back to consciousness, but only for the short span of time it took the baby spiders to chew away enough of her innards to kill her.

* * *

The battle for Menzoberranzan was over. The bodies of drow littered the streets, more women than men. Rebels cheered wildly as Iymace Kilduis was led from the building she’d been holding out in, shackled and beaten. The woman maintained a proud defiance as the rabble surrounding her hurled chunks of rotten food at her. They’d made her watch as the last two soldiers she’d had under her command were violently raped and hacked to pieces. Now she was treated to what had become of the rest of the city while she’d been waging her losing war against the revolt. The journey to the rebellion’s command took her past several points where she’d mounted defenses and attacks. She recognized far too many faces lying dead in the streets, soldiers and friends.

As she approached the house Irae and Nimor had taken over as their command post, she spotted yet another familiar face on one of the balconies. Quarril Melrret had been a reliable captain in her forces. Now the woman looked like some common whore, bent over the balcony railing as her master took her from behind. Drool leaked from the uniquely crafted mouth gag stuffed into her lips. Iymace’s eyes met Quarril’s, but the military leader saw no hint of horror in the captain’s expression, only acceptance. And pleasure. The sight sickened Iymace. The thought that even one woman in her army had given in to the rebellion, had decided to go along with their twisted notions of what drow society should be, disappointed her deeper than her failure.

Iymace knew they would not kill her. Not until she gave them the precious knowledge tucked away in her head. It was her last chance at victory. As she was led into the house, the military leader made a solemn vow to herself. No matter what was done to her, she would not give up the queen’s location. She would find a way to anger them enough into killing her, or she would find a way to kill herself, before that happened. One last mission to go on. The most important mission of her life. She intended to see it through to the end.

* * *

Iymace had not anticipated just how well Irae and Nimor had planned for her eventual arrival. While they’d kept their roles in the rebellion largely concealed, they’d had no shortage of information on their adversaries. As such, they’d designed a means of torture for Iymace that was guaranteed to keep her off guard and uncertain of what she would have to deal with next. It all began rather obviously. A mass rape. They’d recruited particular individuals to take part in the event, although – from Iymace’s perspective – it would seem like the whole of the rebellion was being allowed to torment her body for their own pleasure. The selection process was an important aspect. It kept any potential psychotics out of the mix, those that would disobey orders in the heat of the moment and kill the woman. Beyond that, a preference was given to the drow males with the largest members, to maximize Iymace’s discomfort.

Iymace had anticipated being raped from the moment she’d fallen into the rebellion’s clutches. The process of having her various holes stretched around one massive cock after the next as far from pleasant, but she could tolerate it. Maybe not forever, but certainly long enough to buy Queen Quenthel the time she needed to escape the city. Those arrangements had already been made. Iymace had hoped to hold out a bit longer before her capture, to continue being the visible distraction Quenthel needed to escape Menzoberranzan undetected. As far as backup plans went, being forced to endure one rough penetration after the next was hardly what Iymace would call ideal, but she was a soldier, and she would do her duty, regardless of what it meant for her.

Iymace disconnected from reality, took the hard fuckings like the professional she was. Every load of hot cum pumped into her felt like it was getting her one step closer to her victory. She found a particular appreciation for the men who took forever to get off. They wasted time that was precious to everyone but Iymace. It was only at the end of the military leader’s lengthy rape session that Irae brought out the first of many surprises. Iymace did a poor job of hiding the shocked disdain from her face as Quarril was brought in. The captain-turned-slave wore a harness, a thick fake cock fashioned out of tanned leather swayed in front of her. At her master’s command, Quarril moved in and pushed the head of the fake phallus into Iymace’s aching, gaping asshole.

Ramming deep into the woman who’d commanded her such a short time ago, Quarril found her mind twisting to see the rebellion’s point of view. She recalled all the times Iymace had ordered her around, badgered her for not being perfect in her execution of certain tactics, talked down to her in front of her unit. Being afforded the freedom to fuck the once high and mighty bitch left her mind tickled with a perverse satisfaction. The promise that if she gave the commander a properly hard fucking, Atomph would finally remove her gag only inspired her further. She clutched at one of Iymace’s tits, yanking hard on her nipple as she bucked into the woman’s rear. She didn’t hide how much fun she was having from her former commander. Seeing just how much her enjoyment bothered Iymace only amused her further.

When the rape session finally came to an end, Iymace was hauled down to the house’s basement where a cell had been prepared for her. It was dark, dank, and completely isolated. They left her there, untouched. Iymace had silently chastised the rebellion for such a stupid plan. Making her wait to be tortured and raped again only benefited her. But the darkness was thick. And lonely. It didn’t take long for the isolation to eat away at her. Her captors had been careful, removing any opportunities for her to harm herself from the cell. She only had to wait, but she had no means of determining how long she’d been in the cell. The lack of toilet forced her to choose where in the darkness she would attend to her biological processes. That paired with the meals she was given – made up of some kind of slop that she desperately hoped was not made from the leftovers of dead drow meat – reinforced the feeling that she’d been reduced to some low beast.

After being trapped in the cell for what felt like months, Iymace’s mental fortitude had weakened to the point that she was ready for the next stage of her torture. Pulled form her cell, she looked little like the proud soldier she’d been on the day of her capture. The light burned her eyes as she was led upstairs and out onto a balcony that overlooked the streets. The same balcony she’d seen Quarril being fucked on. Her eyes slowly adjusted to life in the light again, but she was left with a pounding migraine spearing into her overtaxed brain. She looked out at what had become of the city during her isolation. There were still signs of the revolt littering the streets, but it appeared as if life was settling into the new regime. Drow males strolled freely. Some of them led enslaved women along on leashes. She spotted a few scenes of public sex taking place, the males free to take their women as they desired.

Iymace could see the town square from the balcony. Specifically, the execution arena that had been set up. She saw three of the four nooses were occupied. Two of the women were already dead. The third was still kicking and jerking at the end of her rope, but it looked like she was well on her way out. The changes to the city were startling, sickening, but it seemed to reinforce her belief that she’d been locked up for a long period of time. Surely, the queen had escaped the city. If she’d not, Iymace was certain she’d have been informed before being hauled out to the execution arena. The fact that she’d not been meant that – perhaps – she’d succeeded in her final mission.

Then the guard at her side informed her of how long she’d actually been in the cell.

Three days. Only three days.

Something deep in Iymace’s mind snapped. Her passive face scrunched up, desperately trying to hold back the misery. She failed. The military commander dropped to her knees, leaning against the balcony as horrendous sobs poured from her. Behind her, in the room, Irae and Nimor shared a smile, knowing that the next stage of the woman’s torture was ready to start. It was time for them to bring in their second secret weapon.

* * *

Grompf Baenre had been integral during the planning stages of the rebellion. His knowledge and connections had allowed Irae and Nimor to orchestrate the initial stage of the revolt, giving them the much needed edge to gain a fast and devastating upper hand over the Queen’s forces. Since then, he’d not engaged in much of the rebellion, satisfied to stand back and await the capture of his younger sister. With that goal within reach, he was more than happy to lend his assistance to breaking Iymace. He entered the room to find the woman waiting for him, stripped nude and bound to a chair. Various torture tools had been arranged on a table in front of her, misleading the woman into believing she was going to be suffering physically.

Grompf had plans for the tools, but Iymace was not his victim. She was merely a means to that end. He dragged a second chair in front of the woman and sat across from her. It was clear she was still dazed, recovering from her time spent in isolation and the revelation that she’d not been kept in the dark nearly as long as she’d believed she was. Having known her before the rebellion, Grompf was surprised to see just how far she’d fallen in such a short period of time. She’d not even lifted her head when he’d come in, vacant eyes fixed on the tops of her thighs. Grompf cleared his throat. When that didn’t break through her daze, he spoke.

“Hello, Iymace,” he called to her. The familiarity of his voice managed to cut through whatever haze was clouding her mind. She lifted her head, looked at him. Her brow furrowed, confusion in her eyes as she tried to work out if he was really there or if she’d somehow slipped so deep into madness that she’d begun to hallucinate. He offered the military leader a friendly smile. “It’s really me,” he assured her.

Iymace struggled to speak. Her throat ached from disuse – beyond being the rape receptacle of several dozen pricks – but she managed to get the words out. “Wh-what are you doing here?” she asked, looking around the room, confirming they were alone. “Are you… did they capture you, too? Are you…” Her face sank as she realized the truth. “Oh, goddess, you’re a part of this, aren’t you? You had to be. They could never have pulled this off without you.” Iymace was proud. She managed to hold back the sobs, even if she failed to stop the tears from leaking down her cheeks. “How could you?”

“There are things you don’t know, Iymace,” he told her. “Things that made this whole dreadful rebellion necessary. Your queen cares nothing for you. For her people. She only desires power.”

Iymace shook her head. “That’s not true.”

“It’s very true,” Grompf pressed firmly. “Where is she now as her kingdom suffers? So much bloodshed, so much death. Much of it could have been avoided if she’d simply surrendered.” He let out a cruel laugh. “But my sister will never do such a thing. She covets the throne too much to do that. She never told you what happened to her older sister, did she? No, she wouldn’t have. That is a secret she keeps from even her closest of advisors. Triel was destined to rule this city. Quenthel – spoiled bitch that she is – decided she’d be better at it. So she killed Triel. She murdered her sister in cold blood. All for power. If she could do that to her own blood, do you really think she cares for anyone else? She’s only interested in what they can do for her. Your suffering now to defend a woman who would gladly hand you over in a heartbeat if the positions were reversed. Does that really seem worth it to you?”

Iymace didn’t want to believe Grompf’s accusations. She’d never known the man to lie before. Up until learning he’d helped to lead the rebellion, she’d even respected him. But as much as her mind struggled to deny what she was hearing, she could not banish the spark of doubt left in her heart. As the silence grew between them, Iymace made a decision. She didn’t care. She didn’t care what Quenthel had done or whether she was worthy of the sacrifices she’d made – would continue to make. She was a soldier and she had a duty. She would continue to obey that duty until she no longer drew breath. Her face firmed, head rose, a steely defiance seeping back into her eyes. “I will not tell you where she is,” she growled.

Grompf sighed as he rose from his seat, feigning disappointment. He’d seen the struggle on her face before she’d returned to her resolute defiance. That was all he needed. His part in Iymace’s breaking as complete. He left the room without offering her another word.

* * *

Another night spent in darkness. Iymace spent the bulk of it cultivating her newfound hatred for Grompf. The man was a traitor. Despite whatever crimes Queen Quenthel had committed, the atrocities she’d witnessed at the hands of the rebellion were far worse. That’s what she kept telling herself to beat back the selfishness eating away at her, the doubt. Lingering what ifs plagued her. How many young women had she led to their deaths in her attempt to save the city from invasion from within? If she’d ordered her troops to lay down their arms from the start, could the outcome have been different? Would the rebels have been satisfied with the queen in exchange for the safety of the soldiers? Iymace tried to tell herself that it no longer mattered. Things had gone too far to change anything. All she could do was continue to follow the course she’d set and hope that, in the grand scheme of things, it meant something.

The guard seemed particularly amused when he came for her the next morning. “We’ve got a surprise for you, honey,” he informed her as he hauled her out of the cell and back upstairs. The balcony awaited her, as did Irae and Nimor. They seemed just as amused as the guard. It worried Iymace.

Did they find the queen? Did I hold out for nothing?

“For a woman of power, you do like your privacy, don’t you, Iymace?” Irae asked, face splitting into a wide grin. “I’m impressed, actually. It’s not easy for a woman in your position to keep a pregnancy hidden. Perhaps you were ashamed, or you simply could not allow such a trivial thing as motherhood to get in the way of your duty?” Irae laughed openly as she saw the blood draining from Iymace’s shocked face. “Tell me, as you were leading your troops from one failure of a battle to the next, did you ever even try to send word to your daughter? To try and get her out of the city? Or did your loyalty to the queen cloud your sense of duty to your own blood?” She offered a dismissive wave of her hand. “It hardly matters. What does matter is that we’ve found her for you.”

Iymace’s body was numb as she was led out onto the balcony, her eyes directed to the execution arena. The groan of horror that droned past her lips sounded unlike any sound she’d made in her life. The groan shifted into a single word, her daughter’s name. “Imva.” She’d not laid eyes on her daughter in years, since delivering her into the custody of the priestesses to be raised. Her daughter had grown into a beautiful young woman. It made seeing her standing on the gallows with a noose around her throat all the harder to witness. Iymace had never felt a motherly instinct before, even when she’d been holding her newborn daughter to her lactating nipple. In the confusion and struggle of the unexpected revolt, she’d not offered the young woman even a single thought. Iymace had tasted many forms of failure over the course of her life. None of them stung as badly as the neglect she’d shown her daughter.

“You want the queen,” she gasped, tears blurring her eyes. “I’ll give her to you. Whatever you wish. Just, please, let Imva go. She’s done nothing to you, she’s not a threat.”

Irae nodded, lifting a hairless eyebrow. “We’re waiting.”

Iymace unleashed the precious information she had. She let them know where Queen Quenthel had been hiding, the plans of her escape from the city, the route she’d be taking, the names of the advisors she had with her, anything, everything. The words came out fast and occasionally jumbled, not wanting to delay for even an instant in fear that Irae would consider it a sign that she was holding something back. When she ran out of information to give, she let out a deep breath, seeming to deflate. Her shoulders slumped, head drooping. Whatever relief she felt was soured with the knowledge that she’d failed her final mission as a soldier. The only solace she could find was that perhaps she’d won her first victory as a mother.

“Thank you,” Irae said with a smile before turning to the town square. She lifted her hand and signaled Ilmdus to proceed with the execution.

Iymace’s heart sank, body jolting to attention. “No!” she cried out, but there was nothing to be done but watch as Ilmdus tugged the lever releasing the trap door beneath her daughter’s feet. Ivma’s body dropped and Iymace felt a sick sense of pride that her daughter did not scream as death rushed to greet her. The rope snapped rigid. The sound of Ivma’s neck snapping cut across the air, deafeningly loud in Iymace’s ears. She watched as her body danced about awkwardly at the end of the rope. But even from a distance, she could see no life in her eyes. The spasms were nothing more than twitches of death. The applause from the gathered crowd sickened her. She made an attempt to throw herself at Irae, wanting to tackle the woman over the balcony, not caring if she smashed her skull open on the street below if it meant taking the pale-skinned bitch with her.

The guard at Iymace’s side responded quickly, cracking his fist across the back of her head. The broken military leader collapsed to the floor, her desire for vengeance stolen from her. She clutched her arms to her belly, remembering what it had felt like as Ivma had grown within her womb and releasing pathetic wails of misery.

Irae enjoyed the sight of the woman’s suffering. “Don’t worry, my dear,” she told Iymace. “You’ll be joining your dead daughter soon enough.”

* * *

With the knowledge of Queen Quenthel’s location, as well as her plans to escape Menzoberranzan, it was a simple matter of assisting the woman in her attempt. To a certain point. Grompf was particularly found of the idea of allowing his sister to believe that she would succeed in her escape attempt, only to swarm her small party of advisors at the last moment. The plan went off without incident. The small unit of soldiers Iymace had assigned to guard the queen were dispatched outright. Quenthel and the trio of advisors she’d kept at her side during the revolt were captured. The rebellion had succeeded. Now it was simply a matter of enjoying the spoils of their victory. The advisors were taken away to be groomed into a new life of sexual servitude under the guidance off Nimor. Quenthel was delivered into the waiting clutches of Irae and Grompf.

After several weeks spent on the run and in hiding, Queen Quenthel returned to her castle. But it was no longer her castle. Grompf had little interest in sharing his revenge on his sister. “They can do what they like with the scraps,” he’d said in response to Irae’s suggestion of letting the people have some fun with the woman. “Until then, she’s mine.”

Irae had no problems with Grompf’s demands, but she did insist on having a front row seat. Organizing and leading a rebellion had been stressful work. She was in desperate need of some entertainment. The albino’s presence did not bother Grompf, so he agreed to her request. Quenthel’s bedroom had a stunning view of the city, but he passed on it being the venue for his revenge, instead choosing Triel’s room. The room where, many years ago, Quenthel had murdered her sister would make an appropriate cell for her final days of life, as far as the man was concerned.

* * *

Iymace was a vacant shell. Aesthetically, she looked little different than she had on the morning the rebellion had started. One glance at her face, into her eyes, was all it took to see the full extent of the loss she’d suffered in that short span of time. She’d have been a perfect candidate for becoming another slave to sell off if her fate had not already been sealed. Just because she’d ultimately failed in her quest of defending the city did not mean she’d not taken more than a few lives in the process. Having the woman publicly executed for her crimes would provide a significant boost in morale to the victorious rebels. Besides, on the off chance Iymace ever managed to work through her grief, she’d make for a potential problem if she were allowed to live.

Ilmdus chuckled as he tugged Iymace up onto the stage. The shock the woman suffered reminded him of the rookie soldier he’d hung a while back. The fact that this woman had been the leader of the city’s military forces made her mental shattering all the more amusing, not to mention shameful. “Heard you were supposed to be some kind of tough bitch,” he remarked. “Fought against us right to the bitter end.” He noticed Iymace’s eyes fixed on the gallows, on one empty noose in particular. “Ah, I see,” he laughed. “You’re remembering your daughter. The sound of her neck snapping against the rope. I saw them haul you off before you really got to see the show. You should be proud. The crowd enjoyed that bitch’s corpse quite a bit. Spent the bulk of the day fucking her. Lost track of her after a while. Who knows where that body wound up? Probably rotting in some ditch somewhere.”

He watched the tears fall from Iymace’s eyes, still fixed on the empty noose. He grabbed hold of her chin, forced her to look at him. “And she was just some bitch to them. Imagine what they’ll do to your body once I’m finished with you. Too bad that body’s long gone. You two could’ve shared some mother-daughter time.” He grinned, savoring her misery. “But who knows? Maybe you’ll wind up in the same ditch.” He lowered his hand, tracing his thick finger across the front of Iymace’s throat. “Of course, even in death, you’ll never lay eyes on your daughter again. Your demise has been left for me to design. But afterwards, there’s plans in store for that lovely head of yours.”

With a large crowd gathered and eager to witness the demise of the military leader, Ilmdus decided the time for one-sided conversations was over. Iymace was a prominent figure, one of the highest authorities in the fallen kingdom of Queen Quenthel’s rule. As such, she fit the executioner’s qualifications for a bitch worthy of feeling his glorious cock. Ripping free the codpiece concealing his manhood, he basked in the wild cheers the audience let loose with. He pushed his hips forward, shaking the thick slab of meat between his legs at them as he forced Iymace onto her knees in front of him. Even after the numerous rapes she’d endured since her capture and the daze of grief clouding her mind, the woman still possessed enough coherence to stare in horrified awe at the size of the prick being presented to her. Her fear grew as she watched the executioner’s cock stiffen before her. The fact that the man did not need to touch his member to stir it to arousal, or push even touch it against her soft skin, further frightened her.

“I’m sorry,” Iymace muttered, fresh tears breaking loose from her eyes as she watched the method of her death rising before her. “I’m sorry, my queen. I’m sorry, Imva. I… I never meant for this. For any of this.” She let her eyes slip closed, unable to bear staring at the throbbing erection bobbing in front of her face any longer. “Please, forgive m-urrk!” Her plea for forgiveness was cut off as Ilmdus gripped her by the throat, chocking off her words and forcing her mouth to gape open. Discomfort blossomed across the woman’s face as her jaw stretched painfully to accept the daunting girth of the executioner’s cock. He kept a firm grip on her throat as he fed his thick shaft down her throat, pulling her close to his crotch.

Iymace’s wrongful assumption that she was to be shamefully face-fucked before her end came to an end several long moments after Ilmdus finished pushing the full length of his member down her gullet. Her bulging eyes stared up at the man, terror sparking in them as she realized this was her execution. Ilmdus was not fucking her face, he was smothering her with his rigid flesh, forcing her to choke her way to a slow death around his erection. The muscles of her throat constricted around him, creating a tighter seal to please him as she gagged endlessly around his girth. Living her life as a soldier, she’d carried out orders she was not proud of, but she’d always tried to maintain some degree of honor. She’d never imagined her life coming to an end that was not violent in some way. But she’d always hoped that when that death came – even an execution – it would be as honorable as the life she’d tried to live. This end held no honor.

Tears stung her eyes, drool spraying from her stretched lips as she hacked around Ilmdus’s erection. The gurgling deep in her throat was not the sound of a proud woman, only a desperate bitch straining to go on living. His grip around her throat choked off whatever ability she might have had to suck down air through the cramped passage. He held her tightly enough that she couldn’t even submit to him sexually, make an attempt to suck him to completion before death claimed her. She could only squat on the stage before him, mere feet away from where her daughter had died, and suffer for the amusement of her executioner, for the cheering crowd watching.

Iymace’s body writhed before her murderer, sweat drenching her bare flesh. Foamy drizzles of her slobber coated the tops of her jiggling tits. Her struggles grew less coordinated as asphyxiation ravaged her mind. Muscular spasms crept through her body. The wet gurgling pouring out of her grew more urgent. The already dark complexion of her face grew darker, nostrils flaring and bulging eyes rolling back. Ilmdus didn’t so much as shift his hips as the woman suffered before him. The spastic convulsions of her throat felt wonderful. If he’d not been holding back, he’d have poured a thick load of jizz into her already. He’d gladly do so once she was done. But this was not sex. It was legally sanctioned murder.

The disgraced military leader’s movements settled down, but did not come to an end, as the lack of fresh oxygen sent her tumbling towards brain death. Ilmdus did not cum. He did not release his grip on the bitch’s throat. He could see nothing but the whites of her eyes as they rolled so far back into her skull. Her bound hands jerked up, fingers pressing against the tops of his knees. Her fingernails dug in, scratching at him as her body instinctively kept fighting to live. They slipped away, dropping down against her belly as what was surely a death rattle vibrated against the throbbing length of his member. He still held back. He took his job seriously, both as an execution and as an entertainer. Iymace’s arms shot up again, fingers clawing at his legs for a few more moments before dropping back down. Her ass pushed back before her hips shot forward, sputtering gags creeping up her cock-stuffed gullet as her body went through a series of fuck-motions. Her crotch finally sank towards the stage, piss erupting from her crotch and pooling across the stained wood beneath her.

With nothing more than the occasional death spasm rolling through Iymace’s body, Ilmdus felt confident enough to release his grip on her bruised throat. It bulged from the cock wedged down it. The most observant of the crowd were able to spot the moment the executioner allowed his pent-up climax to overtake him, seeing the bulging flesh of Iymace’s throat pulsing with each powerful spurt of jizz he fired off into her. Iymace remained propped on her knees, face buried into her killer’s crotch, nose hidden in the thick patch of wiry pubic hair as her drool-soaked chin rested against Ilmdus’s swollen testicles. The executioner finished draining his balls into the dead drow, basking in the waves of pleasure rushing through him as well as the crowd’s cheers. When he finished, he gripped Iymace’s head and went about the surprisingly difficult task of working her locked up throat off of his spent prick. With a pop and a long slurp, he withdrew from her gaping mouth. Iymace’s head rolled back as it came free from Ilmdus’s dick, jaw hanging open awkwardly as a backwash of spunk flowed past her lips.

Now that Iymace had finished giving him some head, it was time for Ilmdus to take some.

* * *

“This is absurd,” Quenthel Baenre declared.

Grompf agreed, although he suspected he was thinking of something other than his younger sister. The absurdity from his point of view had to do with the fact that it appeared that Quenthel was more annoyed by the loss of her clothing than the loss of her kingdom. And even then, it appeared as if she considered both losses to be mere inconveniences instead of the life changing – soon-to-be life ending – experiences they truly were. “It’s all your own doing, sister,” he told her, eyes lingering on her exposed flesh as he worked his hand around his cock. “If you weren’t you, if you’d not done what you’d done, this would not be happening. I want you to keep that in your mind throughout all of what’s about to come. You did this. You made this necessary.”

Quenthel rolled her eyes but did not offer her older brother even a brief glance. Despite the stimulation of his hand, his cock remained only semi-erect. His desire to rape her did not come from a place of lust or even sexual attraction. It seemed to be an effective method of showing her that whatever power she’d possessed had been taken from her. The fact that they were related was not the primary cause of Grompf’s inability to get hard. The perversity of incest did not interest him the way it seemed to interest others, but he had no trouble acknowledging the physical beauty his sister’s body possessed. The problem was his hatred of Quenthel. Looking her over, he saw only the bitch who’d killed Triel. And while forcing himself on her seemed like a well-earned bit of revenge – and something he very much would accomplish – it made preparing for the act more troublesome than he would have liked.

Grompf came to the conclusion that he was simply focusing too hard on the matter. There were other means of showing Quenthel how far she’d fallen, and other means of putting his body into a state of excitement. Rising from the foot of the bed, he strode across the room. He glanced towards Irae, seeing that she was content to watch the scene play out before her. The sight of her eerie white flesh – so uncommon for a drow – exposed to him sent a twitch through his dick, especially as he watched the woman’s hands leisurely tracing along the curves of her breasts. She lifted a hairless eyebrow towards him, lifting her head to give him a look that seemed to offer him the use of her body if that’s what he required to get things moving. As tempting an offer as it was, Grompf had other plans.

The drow male procured his sword from his discarded clothing and gear. He asked the guard standing between Quenthel and the door for his weapon. He carried both back to his sister, chucking the guard’s sword at her feet. “You want a chance to end this?” he asked. “You’ve not killed anyone personally since Triel. I think it’s time for you to get your hands dirty again. You’ve certainly had plenty of time and plenty of tutors to show you how to wield it. Let’s see what you’ve learned.” Grompf would have been concerned – the skill of the swordplay masters Quenthel had hired to train her were well known – but he knew his sister was far from the best student. Her arrogance had kept her from picking up much more than the basics, insisting that she knew how to protect herself and that the training was a waste of time. She’d used her influence and riches to make it through the training sessions more than her physical prowess.

If she’d been a wise ruler, Quenthel would not have picked up the sword. But even dethroned and stripped, her arrogance persevered. She snatched up the long blade and turned to face her brother. “If I’d known what a problem you’d turn out to be, I’d have slit your throat before Triel’s,” she grumbled, giving her weapon a few testing swipes before settling into a fighting stance. The stance did little more than accentuate her figure. It was nothing a true warrior would use. Quenthel didn’t know that. She didn’t care. She only cared that she looked good with a sword in her hand. “First, I’ll run you through. Then I’ll carve up that white-skinned whore. You’re a fool for giving me this opportunity, brother.”

Grompf ignored her words, waited for her to make the first move. It was a sloppy swipe, overextended and far too easy to predict. He smacked her blade to the side, smirking as he saw her struggle to maintain her grip on the weapon. If he wished to – and if she’d been more open to teaching – he saw several easy suggestions to improve her form. But that wasn’t the point of the fight. With her sword knocked out to the side, he stepped in close to her. Keeping his sword positioned to block whatever attempts she made to slash or stab at him, he clenched his fist and brought it forward. His knuckles slammed into Quenthel’s slender belly, knocking the air from her lungs with a heavy gasp. The clatter of metal against stone signaled the dropping of her sword. Instead of retreating or bringing her arms up to defend herself, the former queen twisted to the side and bent to retrieve her weapon. Grompf showed her what a mistake that was as his fist rose and connected with her cheek. She cried out, body spinning away from him from the force of the blow.

The fight was short and as disappointing as he’d imagined it would be, but the brief bit of combat was enough to stir him to a full erection. He lifted a leg and planted his foot against his sister’s ass, kicking out hard enough to send her stumbling out onto the balcony attached to the bedroom. He hastily advanced on her, shoving her up against the stone railing. One arm looped around her waist, tugging her lower half back towards him. The tip of his member prodded against her perky buttocks. His other arm curled around her neck, hand gripping her by the jaw and forcing her to look out at Menzoberranzan. “Look at it,” he growled into her ear as he worked to position himself at the entrance of her dry cunt. “Look at all that’s been taken from you.”

The city itself was only part of what Grompf wished her to see. The signs of change were dotted throughout the streets. But the biggest sign – the one he forced Quenthel to stare at – lined the path leading up to the castle. Wooden spikes, nearly every one topped with the severed head of a female drow. The displays had largely been made from higher profile women throughout the city. Many of them were known to Quenthel. Every one of the heads faced her, their visages constricted into frozen looks of horror and pain. Some of them were glazed in the creamy expulsions of who knew how many rapists. “Perhaps you think your general will come to save you,” Grompf whispered into her ear, reaching out to point to one of the spikes. “I’d give up on that if I were you.”

Quenthel felt a cold dread stirring deep in her gut as she watched Iymace’s freshly preserved head being wedged onto the top of the spike. She’d known the woman had failed in her assigned task the moment she’d been captured, but seeing she’d been brought to a definitive end made it clear that the military leader would not be rallying anytime soon. It was enough to chip away at Quenthel’s resolve, but not nearly enough to break it. She’d been through more than Grompf gave her credit for. She’d even tasted death once. Her goddess had saved her from that fate, restored her. The ex-queen had no reason to think that something similar would not save her again. She cried out with discomfort and disgust as her brother’s thick member speared its way into her vulnerable snatch, stretching her walls and filling her fleshy canal.

As he rammed his way into Quenthel’s body, feeling her squirming and listening to her whines of protest, Grompf knew he would not have a problem getting hard for the bitch again. He plunged into her cunt with hard strokes, designed to make her suffer more than give him pleasure. His fingers clamped around her dark nipples, yanking on them and twisting them. The semi-public venue of Quenthel’s violation drew the attention of some of the people in the streets. As he continued to ravage her, a crowd grew, cheering him on. “Think of it this way, sister,” he told her with a chuckle. “Your people may not love you, but they do love to watch you suffer. Does that satisfy your need of being worshipped?”

Quenthel did not respond, but she was sickened to realize that, on some level, it did.

* * *

Grompf’s desire to conduct the entirety of his sister’s torture and breaking single-handedly lasted for several long days. He beat Quenthel, raped her, demoralized her verbally, visited a myriad of tortures upon her flesh and mind. But even his stamina had its limits. In the end, his urge to see Quenthel suffer at any cost beat out his desire to be the woman’s sole tormentor. Irae was more than happy to lend her assistance, either working alongside Grompf when he allowed it, or taking over for him entirely when he grew too tired to go on. It helped for him to think of her as another torture tool in his arsenal. Quenthel had spent no short portion of her time ensuring that Irae had been effectively shunned by the drow high society. Becoming the szarkai’s personal fuck toy did wonders to break down the former queen’s egotistical attitude.

Stretched and bound spread-eagle across the bed, Quenthel couldn’t do much as Irae straddled her head. The albino drow brought her naturally hairless pussy down onto the ex-queen’s face, grinding her crotch against her. Irae giggled, cupping her tits as she bounced with rising speed on top of Quenthel’s head, smearing her hot juices across her scrunched-up face. With his cock too tired to rise to attention, Grompf added his own layer to the sexual torture as he lay between his sister’s widely spread legs, dragging his tongue through the folds of her cunt. The thought of giving Quenthel even a single spark of pleasure would have horrified him, except he knew that the bitch hated the sensation even more. Getting off on her brother’s tongue while she was forced to drink down the orgasmic fluids of a lowly albino drow showed her just what a worthless cunt she was.

With her hips gyrating through another orgasm, Irae leaned forward. Grompf lifted his head and planted his cunt honey-drenched lips against hers, sharing a deep kiss of passion borne from their shared pleasure of tormenting Quenthel. Grompf happily moved aside to allow Irae a turn at orally raping the ex-queen’s cunt. Sitting back, he watched the show taking place before him, feeling a renewed stirring in his overworked cock. When he was stiff again, he climbed onto the bed between Quenthel’s quivering thighs. Irae’s eyes lit up as she lifted her face to see the glorious erection. She moved forward, wrapping her soft lips around his girth and giving him a short bit of sucking before popping free to let him get at the real prize. She lifted herself back up into a squat, resuming her spirited bouncing atop Quenthel’s face as she rubbed a tit in one hand and flicked her stiff clit with the other, eyes fixed on Grompf’s member as it vanished into their captive’s unwilling hole.

* * *

The unyielding metal of the manacles bit into the soft skin of Quenthel’s ankles as the weight of her body hung from them, left dangling upside down. Drool leaked from her stretched lips, wrapped around the rusted metal of the ring-gag keeping her mouth open. It oozed down her flushed face, leaving her skin glistening with a combination of slobber and sweat. A fake prick – molded from a particularly well-hung troll – stuffed her cunt to painful proportions. The wide base as well as a couple inches of its length protruded from her body, but the distinct bulge against her slender belly showed just how much of the daunting cock had been forced into her. Quenthel whined out in agony as a second, even more macabre sex toy was wedged into her asshole. She could hardly fathom how her captors had managed to obtain a replica of one of the giant spiders’ breeding proboscises. The tapered tip entered her rear with far too much ease, thanks to the blend of her brother’s cum and the baking grease that had been fucked and fingered into the tight orifice to appropriately lubricate her. The proboscis thickened as it went along, each increase in size marked with a distinct bubble-like bulge. Quenthel’s tight ring of muscle strained more and more as she was forced to take each of the bulbs into her body. By the time the penetration concluded, she swore she could feel the tip of the thing tickling around inside her stomach.

With their torture doll’s ass stuffed full of monstrous cock, Irae gave Grompf a grin and a nod, stepping back from Quenthel’s suspended form. The whip he wielded was not as cruel as the one the executioner used. There were no barbs to claw through Quenthel’s flesh, but he put enough force into his strikes to leave painful welts across his sister’s back. She screamed through her ring-gag, shifting wildly within her bindings as he lashed. He spared no inch of her backside, but he made sure to pay particular attention to her stunning ass cheeks, knowing just how proud his sister had been of the mounds of meat. The welts would heal eventually, leaving behind little – if any – sign of the abuse, but the mental scarring he was whipping into her would remain. Even after the physical pain faded, she’d no doubt continue to wince any time her posterior was so much as brushed up against.

When he finished whipping Quenthel, Irae helped him to roll the bondage contraption out onto the balcony. The audience – it waned and swelled depending on the time of day – was ever-present. Their former queen’s upper half was hidden behind the cover of the stone railing, but they had no trouble seeing her thoroughly welted buttocks and the oversized dildos wedged into her cunt and asshole. They left her out there for the rest of the day and much of the night. Between the extensive abuse and the blood rushing to her head, she faded in and out of consciousness while Grompf and Irae took the time to explore one another’s bodies, not bothering to keep the sounds of their passionate fucking down.

* * *

Breaking Quenthel down from the conceited cunt of a queen she’d been into the soul-shattered whore Grompf wished her to become was a slow process. There were days when it seemed like there was little of her spirit left to snuff out, only for him to spot that flicker of haughty pride in her eyes. But the process of endless rape and torture was having an effect. Quenthel was exhausted, sleeping for only minutes at a time, usually fucked or beaten into passing out before being roused from her much needed slumber. Lack of rest and malnourishment was enough to diminish her beauty, although she was still quite striking compared to many other drow women left in the city. Still, the pride Quenthel took in her appearance made her waning good looks a particularly useful torture tool. After a week of abuse, Grompf brought a full-length mirror into the bedroom. He forced his sister to stand before it, to look at herself and what had been done to her. He watched the tears rising in her eyes, sparkling there, before breaking free to leak down her cheeks. Then a low whine started at the back of her throat. The volume and pitch of the whine rose until finally exploding into a pathetic wailing. She tried to collapse to her knees as her sobs overtook her, but Grompf tightened his grip on her arms, forcing her to remain standing.

Grompf kept her standing there, basking in the misery of what had become of her once gorgeous form, until Irae returned to the room with the specially prepared meal they’d concocted for her. The bowl frothed with the combination of their various orgasmic fluids. She set the bowl on the floor at the foot of the bed and stood beside it with a cruel grin plastered across her face. “Come along, bitch,” she called to Quenthel. “You need to eat if you’re ever going to put some weight on those skinny bones.”

Releasing her, Grompf watched his sister slump down onto her knees before him. Her gaze turned from her reflection to the perverse meal she’d been given. Grompf and Irae shared a laugh as the once proud woman dropped onto her hands and knees and crawled towards the bowl. She lowered her face to the blend of jizz and cunt honey, extending her tongue and dragging it through the thick soup. They watched as Quenthel’s remaining ego was broken before them, seeing the resistance of her laps become eager slurps as she accepted the meal, desperate to do anything she could to restore her beauty. Her face was smeared with cum and juices by the time she finished, face pressed fully into the now empty bowl as she dragged her tongue across the smears left behind, doing her best to clean up every last drop of the substance.

Grompf tugged Irae into his embrace, reaching down to cup a hand around the albino’s plump buttocks as they watched the former queen willingly debasing herself. They did not need to exchange words to know that their task was nearing its end. They’d shown Quenthel what she truly was. The time had come for her to die.

* * *

“This is where it all started for us,” Grompf said to Quenthel as he positioned himself behind her on the bed. She had her head low and her ass lifted towards him, miserable but well aware of her place in life. “How long did you plot taking her life?” he asked. “How long until you worked up the nerve to follow through with your terrible plan? Even back then, you were nothing more than a coward. You crept into her bedroom while she slept. You didn’t even know whether the dagger you wielded was sharp enough or not. You simply assumed it would be. But it wasn’t. It was tougher than you expected to cut Triel’s throat. But that didn’t stop you. Even when her eyes snapped open and stared up at you in the dark, begging for mercy, begging for answers, you didn’t stop cutting until the deed was done. It was a sloppy kill, but you managed to cover your tracks well enough, framing that guard for the act, making it look as if he’d fancied Triel and that she’d denied his interest. An act of passion on the part of a madman. The love letters you forged in his handwriting were quite well done, but that was where your skill ended. Your attempt to dispose of your bloody clothing was far more in line with your arrogance. Did you not think they would be found? Or perhaps you didn’t think anyone could tell the clothing belonged to you? But I had no trouble recognizing that tattered apparel, even if I hadn’t already known the truth about you.” He sank his erection into his sister’s asshole, pushing slowly but firmly as he entered her from behind.

“Which makes this all very fitting, doesn’t it?” he asked.

Quenthel responded with a pained groan as he fucked his full length up her ass. She’d been allowed the gift of clothing for her execution, but the tattered, blood-stained outfit she’d worn so many years ago as she’d carved open Triel’s throat did not fit nearly as well now. Neither Grompf nor Irae cared about how the clothing fit. Quenthel was beyond the point of raising any objections. Her will was broken, spirit crushed, little more than a pathetic receptacle for the myriad of abuses her captors wished to bestow upon her. She took her brother’s cock, listened to his words. But despite everything that had been done to her and just how low she’d been brought, Quenthel still felt no sympathy for her dead sister. The only difference was, she knew better than to advertise that fact, and she certainly knew better than to gloat about it. It may not have seemed like much, but the shift in personality was still enough to leave Grompf stunned. If he wished for his youngest sister to achieve some kind of redemption, she was likely on the path towards it. But he didn’t. He wanted revenge. He wanted to feel Quenthel’s life fade away, see the spark blink out of her eyes, watch her used up carcass further debased.

And while true redemption might never have been a possibility, revenge was well within his reach.

Grompf brought the silken cord around Quenthel’s throat. He’d considered slitting the bitch’s throat, letting her feel what Triel had felt, but had decided against it. His own pride would not allow him to use a dull knife and a sharp one would leave his sister dead for too quickly. The cord would allow him to control just how long Quenthel took to die. It would also allow her to experience some of what Triel had no doubt gone through in her final moments, choking on her own blood. He grinned as he felt his sister’s asshole tighten around his girth, startled by the sudden strangling. She ground her ass back against him, either trying to prove she was a loyal fuck-toy or doing a poor job of squirming away from him. He didn’t care which. He tugged the cord tighter around her throat, crushing her windpipe closed and listening to the desperate gurgles working their way past her lips.

Irae lounged in a comfortably padded armchair at the foot of the bed. She had one leg draped over the arm of the chair, the other stretched out before her. One hand extended out to a small end table beside her, plucking grapes from a bowl and slipping them into her mouth. Her teeth crushed the small green balls, allowing the juices to dribble down her chin and across her bare breasts. Her other hand lay between her legs, stroking the folds of her cunt as she watched Quenthel being strangled. She moaned and writhed seductively in her seat, giving Grompf something nice to look at while he went about the satisfying task of snuffing his little sister. Irae would have liked to have taken a more direct role in the execution, but she’d seen just how much killing the bitch meant to the man. And she took a special kind of amusement from letting the bitch watch her pleasure herself, not lifting a finger to lend any assistance to her plight. It was a fitting bit of personal revenge for her, considering all of the times Quenthel had acted similarly when Irae had needed a favor.

Grompf worked the cord with skilled dexterity, paying close attention to the movements of Quenthel’s body. He relented only for brief moments, allowing her just enough oxygen to stay conscious while prolonging her suffering. The tattered, stained clothing he’d made her ware became stuck to her skin as sweat poured out of her. Her muscles quivered and twitched as the ravages of asphyxiation tore through her. The broken queen’s anal muscles clenched and released around Grompf’s pumping girth, no doubt providing him far more of a passionate fuck than she’d ever felt the need to bestow upon any of her previous, willing lovers. Her breasts swayed beneath her as he fucked and strangled her, delighting in every strained whistle of air passing through her mostly constricted esophagus.

Dark spots flared in Quenthel’s vision. Her bulging, bloodshot eyes appeared to be on the verge of shooting free from their sockets. Irae silently urged the gruesome act to take place, knowing that she would cum hard to the sight even as she cackled out her amusement. The pounding pressure in Quenthel’s oxygen-starved brain grew worse with each passing moment, but it never got bad enough to give Irae what she desired. Drool foamed past her stretched lips as the strangulation forced her body to experience shameful ecstasy, cunt honey leaking steadily from her untouched pussy and down the backs of her quaking thighs. Her dark complexion took on a purplish-crimson hue as muscle spasms crept through her face. Her bulging eyes rolled back, bloated tongue curling from her mouth and sliding about. She gripped the sheets beneath her, weakness oozing through her. Without the persistent pull of the cord around her throat, she’d have flopped face down into the bed.

With an orgasm fast approaching, Grompf yanked hard on the cord, sealing his sister’s throat fully. The wheezes became wet clicks as she strained to suck down air. Panic exploded across her face as the realization that her goddess would not save her this time dawned on her. She found the strength to lift a hand from the bed, fingers clawing at the cord snuffing the life out of her. Her breasts bounced about wildly as her chest hitched, lungs seizing as the stale oxygen left trapped within them began to do more harm than good. The defeated queen’s struggles of panic shifted into the spastic convulsions of brain death as her strangling continued. The pleasure she’d felt became a burning agony as she pissed all over her brother’s swaying testicles, barely feeling the hot spray of his seed firing into her spasming bowels.

Quenthel’s hand slipped limply away from her bruised throat, back down to the bedding. She fell into a series of uncoordinated twitches as her life blinked out. Grompf kept the cord tight around her neck until he finished draining his balls into her corpse. When he finally released his hold on it, Quenthel’s body flopped onto the bed, ass left perched in the air, still stuffed with her brother’s wilting member. A sloppy death rattle escaped her lips as her crushed throat opened up just enough to allow her final breath to exit her lifeless lungs. Popping his softening prick free of his sister’s gaping asshole, Grompf shoved her away from him and climbed off of the bed. He looked down on the corpse – in more ways than one – basking in the culmination of his revenge. Then he turned to Irae, finding her still fingering her wet slit to the sight of Quenthel’s body. He went to her, dropping to his knees before her and burying his face in her slippery crotch.

* * *

With his vengeance satisfied, Grompf had no problem with allowing his sister’s carcass to make its way into the clutches of the denizens of Menzoberranzan. The dead queen’s body was paraded through the streets, with frequent stops for the masses to take out their frustrations on her. It had taken a violent rebellion, an utter upheaval of the way drow society worked, and nearly a week of personalized torture and rape for Quenthel, but she’d finally become a queen of the people. The passionate relationship Grompf and Irae had found as they’d shared their time abusing the woman faded after the object of their mutual distaste died. Much of Grompf’s bloodlust was sated. And Irae had other matters that stirred her interest.

The partnership between Irae and Nimor had already accomplished great things, but neither was satisfied. Nimor’s thirst for domination and expanding the newly minted drow empire was rivaled by Irae’s much more personal desire to exact revenge on all those who’d slighted her. The drow in general still left a bitter taste in her mouth, but with every woman besides herself in Menzoberranzan either dead or enslaved, she decided that particular avenue had been thoroughly milked. Instead, her thoughts turned to the elves who’d originally banished the drow into the Underdark. The high and mighty elves on the surface were a juicy target, one that would not be easy to overthrow. They were just the sort of adversary Nimor desired. The pair began to concoct their next plan.


	2. The First Contact

This is an especially brutal story, filled with torture, rape, and snuff. Be sure this is a thing you want to read before continuing. 

Merethyl Zumcyne awoke early the day life as she knew it was obliterated. 

She was a younger elf, still living with her parents, but the small town where she lived buzzed with how beautiful she’d become. Soon, she’d have to start entertaining the courtship process from potential mates. Despite her beauty, she was fairly certain what her future held. It was a farming town, and she’d likely become a farmer’s wife. Such a fate did not worry her. The farming life was ingrained into her, and she’d certainly had enough experience with what was required of a farmer’s wife thanks to her mother. It did not seem like a bad life. Simple, but pleasant. But she still had some time before she would have to go through with such things. Until then, she had every intention of enjoying the safety and convenience of life under her parent’s roof. 

With the scent of breakfast in the air and beams of sunlight creeping in through her bedroom window, Merethyl rose from her bed, stretching and yawning. Her full breasts pushed against the front of her thin nightie, nipples displayed prominently. She got to her feet, getting dressed with casual laziness. The day would be full of chores and duties around the farm, making her few moments of private tranquility all the more important. 

The young elf trotted out of her room and into the kitchen of her small but cozy family home. Her mother, Deulara, was putting the finishing touches on breakfast. Her sister, Tephysea, was at the table, waiting eagerly for the grub. Her father, Khidell, wasn’t there, most likely already out in the fields. Merethyl savored each bite of breakfast she took, marveling at how stunning a cook her mother was. She was still learning the woman’s techniques, getting quite skilled herself, but she doubted she’d ever approach the level of culinary skill Deulara possessed. She traded sniping comments with her sister throughout the meal. Tephysea was several years older than she was, but still a maiden. Her disinterest in men was a well-established fact and she’d made claims that she was training to become a priestess, but Merethyl suspected her sister simply wanted to loaf off of her parents for as long as possible. Still, the sniping was mostly in good humor. She could hardly blame Tephysea for her scheme. Their quaint home was a special kind of peaceful paradise. 

Merethyl might have been tempted to engage in a similar scheme, except she very much did have an interest in men. Merethyl’s maidenhood was intact, but the same could not be said of her other, less sacred holes. She considered the carnal acts she’d engaged in to be pre-courtship examinations. More than that, they were quite fun. She sloshed a mouthful of half-chewed food in her mouth, remembering an evening she’d spent with Vulmar Naetris in his father’s barn. She’d performed similar tongue movements on an area of his anatomy less tasty than the morsel in her mouth, but the sounds she’d made him make had been far more satisfying in the pit of her loins. The expulsion he’d deposited across her sweaty, panting face afterwards had felt sticky and warm and filthy, but she’d loved it. 

Vulmar’s father’s farm was larger than her father’s. Marrying him would be quite the advancement, not only for herself, but for her family. And – of all her dalliances – she did enjoy the sight and feel of Vulmar’s cock the most. Still, there were customs to go through, and she’d not began them with any of her potential suitors. Not officially. 

Alarm jolted through the young elf as she heard the panicked yelling. It took her a few moments to realize the voice was her father’s. She’d never heard him so afraid. 

Deulara was already peering out the window, looking out into the fields. Merethyl and her sister joined her there. They spotted Khidell running towards the house, legs pumping hard and face red with strain and terror. He waved his arms, yelling for them to flee. The three women remain frozen, shocked, confused, until they saw the advancing drow warriors chasing behind Khidell. 

Some of the warriors possessed bows. They stopped their chase to take aim at Khidell, notching arrows and stretching their bowstrings back. There was no discernable sound as the arrows shot free, but the horrendous scream that ripped up her father’s throat chilled Merethyl to the bone. She watched his body stumble, back arching awkwardly. His bulging eyes locked with hers for a moment before he faceplanted into the tilled soil, four arrows lodged deeply into his back. She saw him start to stir, try to get back to his feet, but by then one of the drow warriors had reached him. Merethyl turned away from the window, but she swore she was able to hear the meaty thud of the axe descending into her father’s body, ensuring his death. 

Deulara choked back her sadness. “Merethyl,” she groaned, finding some edge of steel. “Hurry, out the back. You must warn the town. Your sister and I will delay them as much as we can.” 

“But mother…” Tephysea protested, fear as much in her words as it was in her face. 

Deulara turned a stern look to her eldest daughter. “Merethyl is the fastest of us,” she explained. “And the people must know what’s coming if there’s to be any chance of fending them off.” She turned to her youngest. “Go! Don’t look back!” Merethyl nodded, numbed from the sudden violence that had invaded her idyllic life. She looked at her mother and sister, hoping that she would get to see them again soon, but doubtful that it would come to pass. Then she turned and ran for the back door. Her town was small, on the outskirts of the elven kingdom. A simple farming town. She didn’t know what they’d be able to do to ward off an assault from the drows. But she had her task, and she vowed to not let her mother down.

* * *

Deulara’s shock radiated through her. The pain of Khidell’s death stirred up sorrow and hatred within her. Alongside those feelings were ones of confusion. It had been so long since the drow had ventured above ground. She’d heard tales of them, but had never seen any personally. From the tales, she’d have assumed their soldiers would have been primarily female, although of the ones she could see advancing on her home, she only saw males. If anything, that could be a benefit. Men were easy to manipulate. It would not be pleasant, but she was determined to buy Merethyl as much time as she could, buy their town as much time as she could, to mount some kind of defense, send word deeper into the kingdom so that the elven army could arrive to beat the fiends back. She looked to Tephysea, seeing the terror on her eldest daughter’s face. “Hide,” Deulara told her. “And, no matter what you hear, do not come out.” 

Tephysea’s face scrunched up, tears leaking down her eyes. “We should both hide.”

“If we both hide, they’ll either find us quickly, or they’ll pass by the house and be onto your sister that much faster,” Deulara explained urgently. She could hear the marching steps of the soldiers drawing closer. They were running out of time. “Just do as I say, child.” Wiping at her damp cheeks, Tephysea nodded and fled deeper into the house, heading for her bedroom. Deulara felt an icy ball of dread in her gut. She knew that the drow would find her daughter before long. There were not many places to hide in the house. But if she could delay Tephysea’s defilement and potential death even by a few minutes, she hoped that would be enough. Gathering every ounce of courage she had, the elven woman strode to the front door to greet her husband’s killers. 

She stripped away her clothing as she went, hoping that the sudden sight of her exposed flesh would delay them long enough for her to make them an offer. A foul offer, but one far more agreeable to her than a prompt slaughter. Deulara pulled open the door and stepped into the threshold, displaying her plump breasts to the oncoming horde of drow. 

The arrow plunked into Deulara’s forehead, skewering her brain before erupting from the back of her skull. Her dying face managed a surprised expression as she teetered in the doorway, piss draining down her long, smooth legs. Her stiff-limbed body toppled backwards, collapsing to the floor as the front line of the drow assault force reached the house. Deulara’s plan of using sexual allure to distract the drow had not been a bad one. She’d simply overestimated their interest in keeping her alive before engaging in the violation of her body. 

A pair of drow soldiers scooped up her twitching husk and dragged her back into the kitchen, sweeping the half- eaten meal off of the table and dumping her body onto it. One soldier dropped his head between her spread thighs, lapping his tongue across her hairless slit to get his first taste of elven pussy. The other moved around the table, gripping the arrow in the woman’s head and using it to turn her face to the side, slack lips waiting for his rigid flesh. The drow between Deulara’s legs lifted his face away from her crotch and freed his member, slotting himself into her damp folds. The dead elf woman’s body rocked against the table as she was vigorously fucked, head yanked back and forth along the length of one erection while another pounded into her cunt. A third drow soldier climbed on top of her body, sliding his prick through her deep cleavage. 

More soldiers tore through the small home, tearing the place apart. Panicked shrieks filled the house as Tephysea was dragged from under her bed, hauled back to the kitchen. Her screams turned to sobs as she saw what had become of her mother. Her arms clawed towards the dead woman, begging her for help despite Deulara’s obvious inability to do anything beyond take the cocks of her rapists. 

Tephysea’s constant shrieks were quickly deemed too annoying to go on listening to. The young elf was forced to her knees beside her mother’s corpse. A sword was brought to her throat, cutting deeply through her flesh. Her face filled with pained horror as a torrent of blood gushed from her opened arteries, spilling across her chest and leaving her top clinging to her heaving breasts. The soldier continued to cut, slicing deeper through Tephysea’s neck. She was still clinging to life when her head was ripped free from her body. The drow soldier pinning her down twisted her jerking form towards him, sheathing his erection down her bloody esophagus while the one responsible for her painful decapitation dropped his sword and pushed her neck stump down his throbbing length.

* * *

Only a small portion of the drow forces remained at the small farmhouse, defiling the first pair of elven women to fall in their initial assault. The rest pressed on, following not far behind Merethyl, on their way to the town. The attack was as much about sending a message to the elven leadership as it was about securing a foothold into their territory. And while violating the corpses of the women was a critical part of the message, it was not the only concern. Still, the soldiers were encouraged to have whatever fun they liked with those they captured or killed, as long as the bulk of the fighting force continued to press on. 

Merethyl scrambled into town, sweaty and out of breath. She stumbled towards the nearest person she saw, gasping and babbling about the drow. She drew a crowd, but the harder the young elf tried to explain the danger, the more frustrated she became. Her antics caused more confusion than alarm, no one rushing to mount any form of defense. The image of her father falling to the ground, arrows in his back, dead, played in her mind again and again, alongside the imaginations of what might be happening to her mother and sister. 

Her panicked efforts finally drew out the constable of the town – a woman by the name of Mhoryga Balzana. She had an intense vibe, angular features, piercing yellow eyes. Merethyl stared into those eyes, knowing that time was running out, and strained to get words up her throat. Something simple. Something clear. “D-drow!” she finally yelled into the constable’s face. “Attack!” 

Finally, the concern she wanted, the alarm. It was just unfortunate that it came far too late to do any good. Looking past Mhoryga, Merethyl’s face paled, eyes bulging with terror at the advancing line of drow soldiers. She screamed and pulled free from the constable, turning and putting her fatigued muscles back to work. She’d done as she was told. She could do nothing more except escape, live, keep running. So that’s what she did. 

Mhoryga turned to face the oncoming soldiers. At a glance, she knew there were too many to fight off. There were no elven soldiers stationed in their town. A handful of capable hunters, maybe a few others who’d gotten somewhat proficient with a sword, but utilizing them would only accomplish more bloodshed. The best she could do was try to get people to safety. “Everyone, indoors!” she yelled, drawing the short sword she carried on her hip as she strode towards the enemy. “Lock the doors and windows!” 

It wasn’t a great plan, but it was the best she could come up with on short notice. If these drow were a proper army, they would see that the people were no threat to them. With luck, they’d move through, not waste their time on helpless farmers. She saw confused hesitation on the faces she scanned across, just another sign that they were not cut out for combat. “Go, dammit!” The elven constable’s focus on keeping the people safe distracted her from the principle threat in front of her. She didn’t notice the drow soldier charging towards her until it was too late. Mhoryga turned towards him, lifted her sword to defend herself. The drow drove the tip of his pike forward, spearing his way into Mhoryga’s crotch. 

The high-pitched shriek that poured from the proud woman’s mouth sounded nothing like her to the people that knew her. Her eyes bulged, staring down at the pike, feeling the sharpened blade slicing her sensitive cunt lips to ribbons. She dropped her sword and grabbed the long weapon, trying to pull it free. The drow grinned menacingly and shoved the pike forward, angling it upwards. The blade fucked its way through her vaginal canal, drawing fitful howls of agony from her lips. Mhoryga’s head rolled back, continuing to scream as the drow hefted the weight of her body into the air. Mhoryga’s legs kicked about wildly, hands clutching at her bleeding crotch. The screams pouring out of her sounded nothing like a strong, capable warrior, but the panicked howls of a terrified slab of prey. Gravity tugged her flailing form down the length of the pike, faster as the drow angled it more vertically. The constable’s screams choked off. She hacked up thick gouts of blood, bulging eyes staring to the sky. 

Her choking intensified, face constricting as the bloody tip of the pike eased its way up her throat and past her lips. Mhoryga stared at the blade glinting in the morning sun, tears sparkling in her eyes, and then went limp. The drow strained to hold the weight of her corpse, carrying her forward until he found an appropriate place to prop her up. A gruesome totem displaying the future of the little farming town. The constable’s death had not taken long, but Mhoryga would have been proud to know that her suffering had bought the majority of the town’s residents to flee indoors. Only a handful remained, staring in shocked horror at what was transpiring. 

Theodred Aenelis, an older male elf – the closest thing they had to a mayor – worked up the courage to defend his town in a different manner. He moved cautiously towards the drow soldiers, hands held out in a placating fashion. “Please,” he said. “We’re mostly just farmers. We have few weapons, little of value. Take what you want of our supplies, but please, do not harm anyone. We’ll not resist.” It may not have been the bravest of statements, but it was the only option he saw to avoid an all-out slaughter. 

Unfortunately, the drow soldiers had been given specific orders to carry out that slaughter. A drow soldier approached the man and promptly replied to his offer of a peaceful surrender. He hefted his battle axe up and slammed it into Theodred’s face. His eyes bulged, turning outwards to stare in opposite directions, front teeth smashed apart, nose absolutely destroyed under the cleaving force of the axe blade. His arms shot up from his sides, clawing awkwardly at the air as his trembling body collapsed onto his knees. The soldier growled as he lifted a foot and planted it against the man’s chest, using the leverage to pry his weapon free and kick Theodred’s corpse to the ground. 

With the only form of leadership in the town dead, the people panicked. And the drow surged ahead, easily breaking into buildings and claiming the fleshy spoils lurking within. The men were killed outright, butchered with relative simplicity. The males held no interest to the soldiers. The women were a different story. The ones who struggled too much, or did not possess a bare minimum of aesthetics, were dealt with, although their demises did not save their bodies from being violated. The prettiest of the elves were saved from any kind of mutilation or death, cherry picked for enslavement but not kept from being heavily sampled. 

* * *

Merethyl nearly made it to the far side of town when she spotted the drow soldiers approaching. They had the town surrounded, making escape a slim possibility. She turned and rushed back into the town, frantic and exhausted but coherent enough to recognize where she was. Her best friend – Anarzee Omaleth – lived nearby. With no one else to rely on and the enemy closing in on all signs, sounds of death and violent rape filling the small town, she ran for Anarzee’s home, hoping it would offer some degree of safety until she could find a way to flee. 

It did not.

Merethyl cowered in the basement alongside Anarzee and her mother, Tanulia, for a handful of minutes before the drow broke in and dragged them all back into the street. Even in that short span of time, the young elf girl’s sleepy town had become a nightmare. Bloody corpses were littered about, aimlessly. The bodes of the women were being violated, twisted and manipulated into lewd poses that left their defenseless holes open for penetration. 

As horrid as the sight was, at least their terror and suffering had come to an end. There were still many women still alive, enduring the torture the drow bestowed freely upon them. Merethyl cringed and squirmed as rough hands groped at her young flesh, tugged at her clothing. She broke into heavy sobs, knowing that she would soon become a part of the rape-orgy. She found herself suddenly wishing that she’d given her maidenhood to Vulmar. It would not make what was coming much more pleasant, but she thought it might have helped some. As she was dragged further into the mayhem, Merethyl soon forgot about her own plight, overwhelmed by the atrocities taking place around her. People she’d known all her life. 

* * *

Huethea Ralojyre had been awake for hours before Merethyl had stirred from her pleasant slumber to welcome the terrible day that lay ahead. There was nothing like the smell of freshly baked bread to wipe the fog of sleep from her mind. She missed the panicked elf girl’s arrival in town and the subsequent killing of Mhoryga and Theodred. Huethea remained blissfully unaware of the horrors transpiring just outside her bakery until the drow soldiers broke into her kitchen. 

She’d barely finished with her first batch of bread for the day. The tray was knocked from her hands, flinging warm loafs into the air as she was dragged to her prep table, rough hands tearing at her clothing. Huethea was full-figured for an elf, a result of her being a bit of a glutton for her own baking. The weight had mostly gone to her breasts and ass, but her physique was overall soft and pliable with a small layer of belly fat. The drow soldiers eagerly grabbed at her, squeezing her tits and smacking her ass as they bent her over the prep table. Her heavy breasts smacked against the flour-covered wood, an explosion of white powder erupting into her face, interrupting her panicked screams with fitful coughing. Her head – caked in flour – darted from side to side, eyes wide. 

The attack had happened so fast, it hardly seemed real. As the first drow cock slammed into her defenseless snatch, there was no doubt left that it was happening. The busty baker let out a squeal of horrified pain, squirming and scrambling as her initial rapist took her swiftly and roughly. Her plump tits smacked and dragged through the flour, forcing small puffs of whiteness into the air. Another of the soldiers moved around the prep table, clutching a fistful of Huethea’s hair and yanking her head forward. He pulled his dick in front of her face, smacking at her flour-coated cheeks before slipping into her mouth. 

She instinctively clenched her jaw, biting down on the fleshy length. The drow let out a yelp of pain, dragging his prick free and slamming his clenched fist into Huethea’s temple. He slugged her twice more, leaving her dazed, before making a second attempt to shove his aching member past her lips. He found she was far more willing to take him and started working his way up to a steady, quick rhythm of pumps. Tears stung Huethea’s eyes as she endured her unexpected nightmare, one arm painfully twisted around to her back while the other was stretched out, forced to pump along the shaft of another drow soldier. The cock thrusting into her from behind swelled, stretching her tight elven cunt. The baker groaned around the dick in her mouth, disgusted as she felt the first spatters of seed squirting into her. Her cheeks ballooned outwards, eyes bulging, as the drow fucking her face came moments later, forcing her to swallow down his spunk. 

She was left gasping across her prep table, humiliated and filthy, for only a few moments before the drow turned her over and tugged her fully onto the table. Their hands moved to her chest, groping and smacking at her heavy tits before one of the men climbed over her. He slid his big dick through her cleavage, snagging her by the hair and yanking her head forward. Spittle and jizz crept down her chin as she eyed the throbbing member rising from between her tits to aim at her mouth. With her head still aching from the beating and a dark bruise farming against her cheek and temple, Huethea offered far less resistance to her second oral penetration, although it did nothing for the disgust the felt as the drow’s erection dragged across her tongue. 

A drow scooped up Huethea’s legs, lifting them into the air and spreading them apart. The elf’s pussy stretched open, allowing trickles of creamy white jizz to dribble from her violated hole. The drow eyed the orifice momentarily before guiding his erection lower, pressing the tip against her tight anus. The baker screamed around the cock-meat stuffing her mouth as her asshole stretched painfully to accommodate the drow’s girth. The sharp slap of flesh against flesh filled her ears as the impact of the forceful pumps rocked through her body. Both arms were stretched out, forced to jerk off the members of a couple of impatient drow on either side of her. Her face scrunched up, the sudden touch of drow fingers against her clitoris sending a jolt of unwanted pleasure through her loins. The solider fucking her ass chucked as he felt the spasm work its way through Huethea’s body, her sphincter momentarily clenching tighter around his member. 

He worked his fingers against the bitch’s clit faster, teasing her for his pleasure. Huethea groaned as her head was yanked back, forced over the edge of the table so that another drow could gain entrance to her mouth. Her throat bulged around the size of the cock, gagging and gurgling as the rhythmic impact of the man’s testicles smacked against her nose. A drow using one of her hands leaned in, wrapping his lips around her thick nipple and giving it a hard suck. Warm spunk erupted from the valley of her cleavage, streaking across her throat. More of the stuff pumped deep into her bowels, but the cock remained stiff, ready to go on violating her as the soldier slid free from the gaping orifice to slot himself into her wet cunt. The dick in her mouth slid free, leaving her to gasp as the man shot messy wads of cum over her flushed face. 

It felt to Huethea that the gang-rape went on for hours. She’d have been horrified to know just how little time had passed. The loafs of bread scattered around the kitchen were still warm when the drow soldiers decided they’d had enough of her busty body. 

Her skin was slick with sweat and jizz, a few pasty white patches where the flour still clung to her. They laid her exhausted form out across the prep table, sprinkling more flour over her and adding a layer of bread crumbs. She was barely conscious, too overwhelmed by her brutal assault to comprehend what the drow bastards were doing to her. It wasn’t until she felt the wave of heat from her still burning oven that she realized what they intended. 

The baker screamed and flailed, finding enough energy to fight back frantically as the soldiers hefted her off the prep table. She begged for their mercy, but received only cruel laughter in return as they turned her sideways and stuffed her into the waiting oven. Huethea tried to scramble back out only to have the heavy lid slammed shut in her face. She kept on screaming, pounding at the inner wall of the door, feeling the heat burning her palms but not caring. The crackle of the flames surrounded her, as did the scorching temperature. The bread crumbs clinging to her skin browned up as her flesh roasted beneath the layer, internal organs roasting within her. Huethea’s screams slackened off into desperate wheezing as the scent of her cooking flesh surrounded her. The pain permeated her body, muscles tightening as the heat ravaged her. 

Outside of the oven, only a pair of drow remained behind to make sure the baker didn’t escape her fate. They chewed at the freshly baked loaves of bread while they waited, enjoying the aroma wafting out of the occupied oven. When enough time had passed, they pulled the oven door open. A thick cloud of steam escaped the inner cavern. As it dissipated, the drow were treated to the sight of Huethea’s well-cooked meat-loaf. They carefully slid the body out of the oven and back to the prep table, eager to enjoy some meat alongside their bread.

* * *

Tanulia Omaleth did her best to protect her daughter from the drow soldiers, but there was little she could do to stop them. She was no fighter. Her efforts were valiant, but ultimately only worked against her. The soldiers decided she was too feisty and just a little too old to make an appropriate slave. She kept on struggling, yelling at the drow to leave her daughter alone, as she was forced onto her knees amidst a group of them. The front of Tanulia’s dress was torn open, freeing her breasts. She shuddered with disgust as the soldiers pulled their stiff meat free of their pants, gathering around her to smack their erections against her face and tits. Tanulia stared defiantly up at her abusers. “Do what you will to me,” she growled. “I will not submit until you guarantee my daughter’s safety.” 

The drow laughed in response. One of them grabbed hold of the woman by her chin. “Looks like this whore needs a personality adjustment,” he growled, gripping her face firmly as he angled his member towards her left eye. 

Her stubborn fury cracked, becoming sudden fear. She tried to pull away, muttered something about being willing to give them what they wanted. But her shift in tactics came too late. The drow jerked his hips forward, bashing against Tanulia’s eye. Her arms came up, smacking and shoving against the soldier’s thighs. She let out a high- pitched shriek as her eye popped, allowing the man to invade the socket. He clung to her head, humping hard into her until – with the snap of bone – he plunged his rigid length into the elf’s brain. A muscular spasm shot through Tanulia’s body, her fingers fumbling at the soldier’s legs as blood trickled down her twitching cheek. Her arms slumped to her sides, occasionally jerking about as the soldier sheathed himself fully into her soft brain.

Anarzee sobbed for her mother, watching in horror as Tanulia’s body shuddered around the cock in her head. Merethyl watched the gruesome skull-fucking in silence, too exhausted and too traumatized to feel much of anything. She’d been stripped alongside her friend and two other elf women. Thaciona Quitumal – a farmer who had a plot of land near Merethyl’s family – and Lythienne Rolen – the small town’s priestess. They’d been lined up, forced onto their hands and knees, while a discussion amongst the soldiers took place to decide whether they were worth keeping as slaves. Merethyl’s face scrunched up, wondering where her would-be suitor – Vulmar – was, desperately hoping that he might be able to save her from this nightmare before she lost her virginity to the merciless cocks of the drow soldiers. 

* * *

Vulmar Naetris was in the midst of his own ordeal. 

He was one of only a handful of elf males in the town that had been allowed to live beyond a few seconds. The only thing that had saved him from a prompt slaughter was the cruel sadism of the drow soldiers who’d found him making a bold but fruitless attempt to keep his younger sister – Naexi – safe from the invasion. The drow offered him a chance to live, ordering him to fuck his sister. 

He stared at Naexi’s small, perky breasts and firm buttocks, trying to imagine they belonged to someone else. The terror eating away at him was strong, but he managed to jerk his cock to a stiff state. The drow shoved Naexi onto her hands and knees before him, forcing her to lift her ass in Vulmar’s direction. The shame he felt wasn’t strong enough to beat back his fear. The young male took up position behind his sister, clutching at her slender hips as he guided his barely firm erection towards her bared slit. He pushed into her slowly, muttering apologies to her softly sobbing form and feeling even more shame as his cock surged to a fully erect state from the sensation of her warm, tight pussy walls wrapping around him. 

He pushed aside the revulsion he felt at committing the perverse act, willingly himself to believe the drow were being genuine in their offer. It was easier to thrust into Naexi’s clenching cunt with the thought that it was the only way he could keep them safe. No one would have to know what they’d done to save themselves. He closed his eyes, even tried to block out the whimpers Naexi let out as he sped his thrusts. The longer he fucked her, the easier it was for him to give in and enjoy the act for what it was. He grunted, humping against Naexi, even leaning forward to slip his arms around his sister and clutch at her dangling tits. Vulmar groaned, his balls swollen with cum, cock twitching within Naexi’s snatch as he neared his release. 

The drow had been quite explicit with their demands, as well as their lack of patience. He pounded into his sister faster, eager to get off, but no longer just to secure their safety. He cried out, muscles snapping tense, as his cum erupted into his sister’s spasming pussy. The ecstasy that rushed through him was unlike any he’d felt before, intensified by the taboo nature of the sex. The pleasure ended abruptly. Vulmar grunted as the drow soldier shoved the sword through the young man’s back. He stared down in shock at the bloody blade sliding through his chest. He tilted his head back, staring up at the soldier with confusion.

The drow grinned down at the mortally wounded male. “You elves really are depraved,” he muttered, ripping his sword free from Vulmar’s body. He grabbed the dying elf by the throat and yanked his limp form away from the cowering female. His still rigid prick popped free from Naexi’s cunt, leaking the last of his seed across her quivering buttocks before he was tossed aside. The rest of the drow soldiers converged on the sobbing young woman, ready to plunder each of her holes. She was young, subservient. She’d make an excellent slave. Vulmar’s dying eyes fixed on his sister, watching her rough violations with a tickle of jealousy before his last breath wheeze past his lips.

* * *

Some form of decision had been agreed upon concerning the fates of Merethyl and the three others cowering in the town square, but the stunned young elf was too distracted by the horrors surrounding her to have heard it. Tanulia’s corpse was still twitching, jizz leaking from her gory eye socket as a fresh drow soldier violated her ass. Anarzee was sobbing loudly, occasionally calling out her mother’s name. 

The sight of the matronly elf killed and violated so carelessly stung Merethyl almost as badly as it did her friend. Tanulia had been like a second mother to her. Having not spotted any sign of her own mother or sister, she could only assume they’d been killed back at her home. Merethyl was beginning to wish she’d remained with them. She had no desire to die, but she thought it would have been at least somewhat better to be killed sooner than risk the slow butchering at the hands of the soldiers, or – even worse – prolonged enslavement. 

A blend of strained gurgles and breathless whimpering permeated the air. Merethyl’s dazed eyes moved from Tanulia’s carcass to the source of the sounds. Shandalar Grenala. She was roughly the same age as Merethyl. The two had been bitter rivals, each of them vying for Vulmar’s attention. Merethyl recalled fantasizing about a number of terrible fates for the bitch, but now that one of those fates was transpiring before her, she no longer felt very good about it. 

Shandalar dangled at the end of a noose, the main attraction for the soldiers gathered around her. They’d decided to play a bit of a game with her, to determine if she’d become their slave or just another corpse littering the town streets. She was forced to endure the slow hanging, struggling for each breath as soldiers moved up to have some fun with her lower holes. Shandalar clung to each new rapist, curling her long legs around their waist to lessen the tension around her throat. The soldiers fucked her vigorously, none of them lasting long inside her. A steady flow of cum drained from her stretched holes, down her kicking legs as she hung after each fucking she received. Shandalar was proving she had a good supply of stamina, but Merethyl wasn’t sure how much longer the woman would last. Her struggles were beginning to slacken, and the number of drow interested in fucking her was slimming down. 

Thaciona let out a sudden groan of discomfort, drawing Merethyl’s attention away from her rival. A drow had taken position behind her and was feeding his massive erection into her cunt. The farmer cringed, head shoved to the ground as the soldier plunged his full length into her, starting up a steady rhythm of thrusts. On the other side of her, the priestess let out a loud scream as she was skewered with her own length of drow cock-meat. 

Merethyl’s breath quickened, shivers of terror creeping through her body as she realized the time had finally come. Tears swelled in her eyes as she heard Anarzee’s strained voice call out from just beside her, once again begging her dead mother to save her as she took her first drow cock. Merethyl burst into tears as the tip of an erection teased across the soft folds of her pussy, prepared to hammer into her and steal her virginity. “P-please,” she whimpered, finally finding her voice. She twisted her head to the side, looking up at the drow preparing to rape her. “Not like this.”

The drow grinned back at her, gripping a fistful of her hair and yanking her head back as he sank the first couple inches of his dick into her. Merethyl shrieked, eyes bulging as she was penetrated, feeling the strain in her body as the male pressed roughly against her hymen. A dark chuckle passed the man’s lips as he felt her virginity. His hands tightened on her and his hips bucked forward, slamming the remaining length of his prick into Merethyl and destroying her maidenhood. She was only mildly relieved when the drow released his hold on her hair, allowing her to lower her head, squeeze her eyes shut, and try to block out the foul sensations of his cock pumping into her aching sex. 

With Shandalar gurgling her way to the end of her lengthy demise, the drow soldiers turned their attention to the four elves lined up nearby. Other females were being put in chains, ferried off into a loose group. They were the ones deemed worthy of becoming slaves. There were no living male elves left in the town, their butchered bodies covering the streets or sprawled within the town’s various structures. 

There weren’t quite as many female corpses, but those were at least receiving the perverse attentions of the drow. Even Mhoryga’s impaled carcass was not spared, her clothing cut away so that soldiers could take turns fucking her undamaged asshole. Huethea’s leftovers were hauled out and passed around as mid-day snacks as the orgy of rape continued. 

Merethyl quickly lost track of what it meant to be a virgin. The drows used her just like they’d used so many of the other women in her town, with little regard for her as a sentient being, simply a series of pleasant holes to fill. She didn’t have the strength or courage to fight back after seeing what became of the women who attempted it. The day dragged on, sounds of debauchery assaulting her ears. It became hard for her to determine whether the fleshy slaps she heard came from the thrusts invading her body, or one of the women on either side of her. There was no relief, no end to the assault, just the painful twisting and turning of her body to take a fresh rapist. But mostly, Merethyl – as well as the others – remained on their hands and knees. It was a convenient, all-purpose pose, keeping their mouths, cunts, and asses vulnerable to attack. 

When the sun finally set, drenching the devastated town in torchlight shadows, Merethyl felt a portion of her mind splinter at the realization that the endless stream of atrocities committed upon her had taken less than a day. The memory of awaking early, happy, content, in her home seemed like a lifetime ago. 

It was sometime during the night, as the orgy was winding down, that the decision made regarding Merethyl and the others became clear. Thaciona was dispatched first. The farmer groaned weakly as her head was yanked back, barely conscious from the hours of rape until the dagger was brought up against her throat. She let out a startled gasp that became a wet sputter as the blade carved deeply into her flesh. A gush of blood erupted from her sliced throat, body rocking steadily as her killer continued to ride her upraised ass. 

Shock and panic shot into Merethyl as she watched the woman shuddering and dying so close to her. She heard the priestess let out a terrified yell, turned just in time to watch the dagger slash through her neck. Her breath quickened, staring in horror at the gruesome display. “Mother, please,” Anarzee whined, drawing Merethyl’s attention back to her friend. The drow soldier was fucking her cunt hard, dagger held firmly against the smooth skin of the young elf’s throat. He carved into her slowly, opening her veins and severing her tendons with cruel precision. Blood sprayed from Anarzee’s lips, drained down her neck to cling to her heaving tits. She was shoved to the ground, head turned to face Merethyl as her life drained out of her rapidly. Wet gurgles surrounded her as the trio of raped companions she’d spent the majority of the day with died around her, used up slabs of fuck-flesh being disposed of with no regard. 

The will to live flared up within Merethyl with starting speed. She found a strength she’d not known she possessed, bucking back against the dick inside her with enough force to knock the drow away from her. She scrambled forward, unaware of her heavy sobs as she managed to get her legs beneath her and rise to her feet. She didn’t look back, charging ahead into the night. She saw soldiers darting for her and ducked away from them. She had no plan beyond simply escaping. If she was cut down or shot full of arrows during her attempt, she didn’t care. The surge of adrenaline and panic blinded Merethyl, kept her moving. When she got clear of the group of soldiers, she went back to running, legs pumping hard, sobs following after her as she charged into the darkness, somehow managing to escape the nightmare that had come crashing down on her little town.

* * *

Perched atop their Riding Lizards on a nearby hill, Irae and Nimor watched the young elf girl’s frantic escape from the village. Merethyl’s luck had been anything but. The soldiers had been given special instructions regarding the girl. She’d made her daring dash a little sooner than Irae had expected, but the soldiers had done a good job of merely attempting to recapture her before she made it out of the town. The farming village meant nothing to the drow. Even as a foothold into elven territory, it was a poor choice, offering little strategic value. Which was exactly what Irae and Nimor intended the elven rulers to think when Merethyl arrived to spread news of the attack. It would play well to the elven sense of superiority. They would, no doubt, mount some form of counter-attack, likely a rescue mission for the slaves the young elf had seen being taken. When the elf army came, the drow would be ready for them. It was all going according to plan.


	3. The Rescue

This is an especially brutal story, filled with torture, rape, and snuff. Be sure this is a thing you want to read before continuing. 

Chapter Three: The Rescue

News spread fast on the tongue of the exhausted, traumatized elf girl who’d managed to escape the drow invasion of her small town. The attack was horrendous, but not surprising. It had been some time since the drow had come to the surface to harass the elves and most assumed it was simply yet another small border skirmish between the two races. Not that the attack was taken lightly. An appropriate response was hastily put together, the elven army gathered and set to march. The fact that the drow had not simply come to kill but had taken prisoners gave the elves confidence that they would have little trouble catching up to the guilty group. Assurances were made that the living would be saved, and the dead would be avenged as the army headed out, their hearts full of confidence.

* * *

It wouldn’t be much longer. It had been a long day of marching. They’d seen what remained of Merethyl’s town, butchered bodies buzzing with flies and drenched in blood and cum. Death at the hands of the drow was not common enough to diminish the shock, but the added perversity performed on the corpses was something new. Male soldiers in the drow army weren’t uncommon, but they were typically little more than fodder and there’d not been any instance previously of them being allowed to violate their victims in such a way. It left a chill of unease through the elven forces. Vianola Qinphine had been especially bothered. She’d not been a soldier for long. This troop movement was the first she’d been a part of that involved actual combat. She kept her sword held tight, at the ready, and forced her legs to keep moving, matching the pace of the foot soldiers on either side of her.

Tehlarissa Maghorn had more than a few years of soldiering under her belt. Marching just beside the fresh recruit, she had no trouble spotting the young elf’s nervousness. “There’s a reason the drow live the bulk of their lives below the surface,” she remarked casually. “They’re a lowly bunch. Greedy, impetuous children, really.” She nodded back towards the small town they’d gone through. “That’s the evidence of one of their temper tantrums back there. It’s sickening, but that’s all it is.”

“They killed a whole town,” Vianola whispered back, ashamed of her fear.

“It was a small town,” Tehlarissa replied. “Full of farmers. It wouldn’t have taken many drow to do the damage we saw. Our strength of numbers here today is more about sending a message to our people than it is about making sure we have enough might to beat them back. Just stay close to me, kid, and you’ll get through this in one piece. I promise you that.”

Vianola heard a hiss in the air and mistook it for another fat, buzzing fly gorged on the dead meat of her fellow elves. The hiss grew louder and a moment later an arrow slammed into the veteran beside her, piercing her right eye and spearing through her skull. The rookie let out a startled shriek, staring in horror as the older elf’s body twisted towards her. Tehlarissa’s remaining eye stared at her blindly, arms jerking towards Vianola and awkwardly tackling the young woman to the ground. As she fell, the rookie heard the hissing of more enemy arrows joined by the commanding voice of Syllana – their general and the eldest daughter of the ruling king and queen – ordering the troops to defend themselves and prepare to engage the drow.

The elf army did their best to follow their general’s orders, but the surprise attack left them disoriented and ill-prepared. As they scrambled to take defensive positions, they discovered that the small raiding party they’d expected was anything but. It looked as if the entire drow army waited for them, joined with allied groups of goblins, orcs, and ogres. It was no longer a decisive strike for revenge, it was a true battle for survival.

* * *

Vianola spent the first few minutes of the fight pinned under Tehlarissa’s corpse, gripped with panic. The veteran’s reassuring words meant nothing now that the woman’s blood was dribbling over her screaming face. Her terror gave her the strength to push the dead weight away. She scrambled to her feet, all sense of pride and courage drained from her in one terrible instant. The young elf broke free from her ranks, fleeing in a direction she hoped would lead her away from the drow forces. She tossed her sword aside and clung to her armor, praying for it to keep her safe until she could secure her escape.

A pack of goblins tasked with keeping the elves herded together spotted Vianola’s frantic fleeing and gave chase. The woman glanced over her shoulder, short black hair whipping against her forehead as her purple eyes caught sight of her pursuers. She let out a shriek and pumped her legs harder, managing to gain some extra distance from the short-legged goblins. Comrield – the leader of the small group – drew forth a curved length of wood, the edges covered in razor-sharp steel. He cocked the boomerang back and let it fly towards their prey. If Vianola hadn’t learned a valuable lesson in trusting her ears such a short time ago, she’d have been easily cut down by the weapon. Hearing the strange reverberation on the air, she chanced another look behind her and saw the projectile coming. With a strained yell, she threw herself to the side, narrowly avoiding the boomerang as it whipped past her.

The close dodge returned an ounce or two of courage to her hammering heart. As she rose to her feet, she looked back to the pack of goblins, seeing they’d slowed their movement. It seemed the thrown weapon had been their final attempt to catch her. They certainly looked tired enough from the short sprint they’d engaged in. With the remainder of the drow forces behind the goblins, Vianola felt a moment of safety. She could outrun them, escape them, find someplace remote and private to live out her life where no one would ever know of her cowardice. With her eyes fixed on the goblins, basking in her small triumph, she didn’t see the boomerang reach the apex of its journey and loop back towards her. When she heard the sound of its spinning sharpness again, it was too late.

The blade of the boomerang met the backs of Vianola’s knees, slicing through flesh, ligament, and bone. The cowardly soldier screamed as the weapon ripped through her legs. She fell backwards, hitting the ground hard. Lifting her head, she stared at the spurting stumps of her legs, her feet still managing to stand, ending just at her shattered knees in a relatively smooth cut. The goblins were coming again, Comrield catching his boomerang and sheathing it on his back as he jogged towards the fallen woman. Vianola jammed her elbows into the grass, straining to crawl backwards from the group, leaving twin trails of hot blood in her wake. Her movements were spirited but waning with the passing of each moment as she lost more and more of her precious blood. By the time the goblins surrounded her fallen form, Vianola was gasping for breath and thoroughly sapped of energy, flesh sweaty and pale, too weak to fight back as their petite hands fell upon her.

The sound of battle raged on nearby, but Vianola couldn’t bring herself to care about the fate of her fellow soldiers as she helplessly watched the goblins hastily stripping away her armor. Her small, perky breasts were revealed, pink nipples already shriveled into hard nubs as the chill of blood loss ravaged her. A couple of goblins pawed at her chest while the others – Comrield among them – worked to get her pants off. The grass tickled at her buttocks and hips as she was laid bare before the cruel creatures. They freed their members – five in total – and Vianola was left to gape at the absurd size of their cocks – especially compared to their miniscule statures. The dicks grew larger as they stiffened, their hot lengths dragging across her soft skin.

Being in charge of the group, Comrield moved between what remained of the elf soldier’s legs first. Vianola groaned as he entered her, shoving roughly into her sex as his clawed fingertips dug into the gentle mounds of her breasts. He filled out her vaginal canal before drawing back and thrusting harder, launching into a hurried series of strokes. The remaining four goblins did not leave her while their boss ravaged her cunt. Two of them – Sruis and Furt – forced her weak fingers around their rigid flesh, humping against her palms, while a third – Vilb – chewed away small nibbles flesh from her shoulder. The final one – Ict – dropped over her face, dropping his dangling balls into her gasping mouth as he jerked himself off over her.

The goblins may have possessed bigger than average dicks, but their stamina was greatly diminished. And with the delight of a tight elf snatch wrapped so snuggly around his girth, Comrield didn’t last long. He came hard and deep into the whimpering slab of half-butchered meat, draining his tingling balls into her before drawing free from her slippery slit. Sruis and Furt fell into a brief struggle as they rushed to take a shot at the woman, finally relenting into a truce as they rolled Vianola onto her side, one aiming for her greased pussy while the other pressed against her tight sphincter. They filled her lower holes in unison, drawing a groan of suffering from the elf’s trembling lips. The groan became muffled as Ict adjusted to the new angle she lay at, shoving his prick into her mouth.

After chewing away a few more bits of Vianola’s upper arm, Vilb wandered away from her body to where her half-legs remained perched. He pulled one leg up and tugged her boot free. He tossed the portion of limb aside so he could strip the other. Taking hold of a shin in each hand, he brought the soft soles of her feet together against the sides of his stiff prick, rubbing back and forth as he turned to watch the others plunder the living portion of the elf. Sruis and Furt punched their cocks into Vianola rapidly, letting out a chittering chorus of laughter as they reached their respective orgasms. Jizz poured into the gagging elf, her muffled whimpers growing in urgency as Ict’s fingers closed around her head, sliding through her short black hair to scratch at her scalp. Her cheeks ballooned outwards as the mouth-rapist came, pumping his load down her gulping gullet.

As the goblins pulled free from her various violated holes and rolled her onto her back, Vilb stomped his way up and onto the woman. He took position on her heaving, sweaty tits, letting her watch as he vigorously masturbated with the aid of her dead feet. Vianola was barely conscious, coughing up wads of spunk as the pain of her wounds and rapes radiated through her. She regretted ever following her dreams of becoming a soldier, unable to understand her past self’s determination and bravado. One glimmer of violence had been all it had taken to shatter her spirit and now she was paying dearly for her life choices. Dying terrified her, but it was the most optimistic outcome she could conjure for her predicament. Better to die sooner than to continue being tormented by the filthy goblins.

The goblins were more than happy to help send Vianola on her way. With the tide of the battle turning drastically in their favor, they had other deserters to chase down and defile. But being their first victim of the day, they wished to reward her for being such an entertaining plaything. Prying her pert buttocks apart, Ict and Furt dug their fingers into her loosened asshole and stretched the orifice further open. Dropping one half-leg, Vilb carried the other with him, crouching in front of her crotch and waiting patiently for his fellow goblins to break the woman’s hole wide enough for him to start shoving the bloody stump of her leg inside. Vianola’s eyes bulged, pained shrieks pouring out of her as the majority of her severed leg was rammed up her rear.

With only the curve of her ankle and foot sticking free from her ruined asshole, the goblins collected the remaining portion of her leg. Vianola found some strength to struggle as her jaw was wrenched open. The taste of her blood mingled with the linger flavor of jizz as Comrield shoved the stump past her lips. It proved to be an even trickier insertion, forcing the goblins to kick their feet against the bottom of Vianola’s, driving the slab of dead meat inch by inch down her bulging throat. The rookie elf choked and flailed about on the ground, face going red as spurts of saliva crept out from around the circumference of her removed limb. The goblins managed to get half of her severed leg down her gaping maw before they grew too tired to persist any longer, but the obstruction was large enough and deep enough to seal the young elf’s fate. They left her behind, seeking out fresh morsels as she gurgled in her misery before gradually expiring.

* * *

The drow had counted on the elves underestimating them. The pride of the fair-skinned race was a well-known trait, easy to exploit. Irae and Nimor had done just that. While Syllana scrambled to restructure her forces to combat the significantly larger threat they’d marched right into, the drow leaders simply continued with their plans. The assortment of elven troops matched what they’d expected to face and, as such, they’d come up with a relatively simple order of operations to go through. The deserters were a special case, the goblins tasked with hunting them down and eliminating them. Some of the elves might survive the battle, but none would be allowed to escape. Two prongs of drow forces extended out and around the elves, strafing them and closing them in, giving them few optimum choices for pushing their attack and even fewer for mounting an orderly retreat. They could only defend their rapidly diminishing territory.

From there, the cavalry forces became the choice targets. Aside from offering an offensive bonus, the horse riders would be the hardest to hunt down if they managed to break through the drow lines. Several squads of heavily armor orcs armed with polearms were tasked with taking out the riders and their beasts. They moved in with malicious tenacity, impaling any flesh they could reach. Some orcs were lost, but the skirmish was decidedly one-sided due to the panic creeping through the elven ranks. In a matter of minutes, only three cavalry riders remained, their numbers diminished enough that the orcs decided to add some pleasure to their grisly business.

Knocked off their horses, the female riders weren’t much of a threat. They grouped together, each hoping that the other would have the means of defending them. A few of the orcs corralled the horses while the others amused themselves by tormenting the women, tugging at their light armor and baring their skin. By the time they were ready to have their fun, the elves’ clothing had been reduced to ragged tatters.

Yrneha Olasys was tugged away from Thasinia Faepetor and Delsanra Ianmyar. Two orcs – Pregu and Hegug – pulled her along by her arms, tearing away the remainder of her clothing as they led her back to her steed. The orc holding onto the horse’s reins – Verthag – pulled a handful of sparkling dust from a satchel at his side. He shoved the powder against the horse’s face, forcing it to breathe it in. The beast let out an excited whiney, bouncing and trotting in place as the effects of the drug worked quickly. Yrneha’s face paled as she watched the stallion’s flat-headed prick sliding free of its sheath, dangling heavily beneath it. She struggled and screamed as the orcs on either side of her knocked her onto her hands and knees and pulled her beneath the horny beast.

Pregu and Hegug kept her held in place firmly while Verthag controlled the horse. The stallion’s cock touched against Yrneha’s upraised rear. The feel of her soft flesh against his sensitive member encouraged him to explore her with more vigorous prodding. Any affinity the beast had for his rider was utterly perverted thanks to the snort of powder he’d been given. The arousal flooding through his system demanded satisfaction, no matter what the cost for his unwilling partner. Pre-cum leaked steadily from the horse’s urethra, smearing across Yrneha’s buttocks and into the crack of her ass, lubricating her minimal for the impossible penetration forthcoming. The elf held fast to whatever pride she had in the face of her humiliating bestial rape, right up to the moment she felt her sphincter start to give. She went from cringing and grunting to screaming and begging in an instant, wide eyes shifting from one orc to the next, urging them to simply kill her, or even to take her for themselves, anything to save her the agony of having the stallion’s massive prick rammed right up her ass.

The orcs only laughed and enjoyed the show. Yrneha’s screams intensified as her small sphincter expanded around the stallion’s thickness. They became urgent gasps as the air was fucked from her lungs. Blood trickled from her blown out asshole, rolling across the lips of her cunt and down the backs of her thighs. Her slender belly distended, pushed outwards further with each violent thrust the stallion gave her. Her skin stretched around the flattened tip of the horse dick, threatening to tear open. The beast adjusted the angle of his strokes with some help from Pregu and Hegug moving Yrneha’s body, gaining the ability to pound further up the elf’s ruined ass. As the stallion thrust his way into her chest cavity, bloody chunks of vomit erupted from Yrneha’s lips, streaking several feet across the ground before her.

Tangles of shredded intestine and pulped organ clogged Yrneha’s throat, choking her from within. Blood drained down her chin as her face strained, gagging and hacking in an attempt to clear the blockage of her own innards. A thick wad of ruined organ spat clear of her mouth as the stallion fucked her with growing vigor. As the internal damage mounted and her asphyxiation intensified, the elf’s performance grew far livelier. The orcs let out a cheer as the horse reared up, hefting the weight of the woman’s body into the air as he let out a whiney of delight. A pinkish spray of blood and cum surged through Yrneha’s mouth, transforming her dying form into a perverse geyser for several lengthy moments. As the stallion’s hooves settled back into the soil, the rider hung limp beneath him, thoroughly snuffed. With a smack to the beast’s rump, Verthag sent the horse galloping away, carrying Yrneha’s corpse along with him.

While Yrneha suffered her fatal equestrian fucking, Thasinia and Delsanra endured a more hands on form of molestation courtesy of the pair of orcs in charge of their captivity. Gnorth yanked Thasinia’s head back and forth along the length of his throbbing member while Wakgut hammered into Delsanra’s cunt from behind, tugging at her long golden hair. Gnorth pulled free and unloaded a series of messy wads across the gasping elf’s face before dragging her by her auburn hair over to where Verthag had the other two horses gathered. The woman struggled against him and he let her, her strength nothing compared to his. When he got her where he wanted her, he gave her a solid punch to the gut, stealing her breath and laying her out on her back between the two anxious beasts.

Pregu came over with a couple lengths of rope, handing one off to Gnorth. They knelt at the elf’s head and feet, looping the ropes around her wrists and ankles and tying them off with constricting knots. They stretched the opposite ends of the ropes to the two horses, securing them to the empty saddles the beasts wore. There was enough slack in the lines that Thasinia remained lying on the ground, only her arms and legs tilted upwards into the air. That changed as soon as Verthag encouraged the stallions to trot a few steps away from one another. The elf’s body was hoisted into the air, suspended taut between the two horses. The orcs kept forcing the beasts to move in opposite directions, creating an animal-powered rack to stretch Thasinia’s lithe form. The woman screamed through her teeth, eyes bulging as her muscles stretched and tore, bones popping and cracking.

Thasinia’s screams became stifled as the tension in her body grew too great for her to breathe effectively, allowing the underscore of high-pitched creaking radiating from her to be heard. The drone of her stretching skin intensified as the horses bucked and tugged, doing their best to break free from the woman binding them together and run free. The elf’s body gave it in sudden, spectacular fashion. The sound of a fleshy seal coming undone accompanied the sight of her stretched belly splitting open across the middle. Her strained vertebrae popped apart as the horses picked up speed, tearing Thasinia in half. The two chunks of her body hit the ground hard and were promptly dragged away, kicking up dust and clumps of soil and leaving behind gruesome smears of blood and innards. The orcs watched the woman’s two-pronged departure from the battlefield, cheering and laughing as she went.

The position of Delsanra mercifully kept her from witnessing the brutal execution of her fellow rider, but what she’d heard of Thasinia’s end was more than enough to fill her mind with all manner of grisly images. She wept for the woman’s death, just as she wept for Yrneha’s, but mostly she wept for herself, certain that she’d be joining them both soon. Wakgut’s throbbing member pulsed within her bruised sex as he drained his cum into her. Having given away the first two sexy slabs of elf meat to the horses, the remaining orcs were quite hard and ready to violate her. They rolled her onto her back, Verthag taking up position between her raised legs and working his way up her ass while Pregu dropped onto her chest and slid through the valley between her breasts. Having sampled Thasinia’s gullet, Gnorth was eager to try out Delsanra, slotting his renewed erection into her mouth. Wakgut gathered up a handful of her long blonde hair and looped it around his prick, rubbing the soft strands across his flesh.

The rider’s gang-rape dragged on, her body twisted and tugged into strained posses to allow the orcs the opportunity to fuck her every hole from a myriad of angles. Sweat and cum glazed her skin and filled her body. There seemed to be no shortage to their stamina, each orgasm seeming to only leave their erections harder than before. She found herself silently begging for the bastards to finish her. Go on raping her if they liked but do so after the life had been snuffed from her body. When the pumping members finally left her, she thought the moment was finally coming until she heard a new voice – a less guttural one – addressing the orcs. She pried her tired eyes open, blinking away the jizz covering them, to see a drow soldier. His eyes leered down at her, his hands motioning to her before handing over a set of manacles to Verthag. The orc leader returned to her, clamping the bindings around her wrists and ankles. She was pulled onto her trembling legs and made to march awkwardly deeper behind the drow lines of attack. There she found a small group of fellow elves, each of them bound as she was, some of them already in the midst of being defiled. Delsanra desperately wished she had the strength to fight back, to save herself from the enslavement that she’d apparently been just beautiful enough to earn. But after the ordeal, she could offer no resistance as the drow solider who’d picked her out shoved her onto her knees before him. Moments later, she was choking down his long cock.

* * *

Besides the cavalry, the elf archers were the next biggest threat to eliminate. Not that they were given much time to mount an effective defense. The drow archers hunted them down with brutal efficiency, picking them off until only a handful of them remained. Five terrified women crowded behind a boulder that wasn’t nearly large enough to keep them effectively covered, darting out just long enough to keep the drow soldiers at bay. It was a struggle they were losing, and they all knew it, but it didn’t keep them from trying.

Kaylessa Farfiel boosted herself up to peek over the top of the boulder, hoping the unexpected appearance and elevated perspective would give her a chance to get a proper look at the enemy’s numbers and maybe even pick one or two off. She barely even got a glimpse of the advancing drow troops before the sharpened tip of an arrow punched through her forehead. She fell without ceremony or grace, stiff-limbed and slack-faced. Kaylessa launched the arrow notched into her bow as she dropped away from the boulder, firing it uselessly into the heavy stone. Her arms flopped to her sides, already dead, while her long legs kicked about, digging her heels into the dirt as she humped the air and pissed herself.

Shelara Roro rushed to her fallen friend’s body. On some level, she knew there was nothing that could be done for the woman, but her mind was too clouded to stop herself. As she reached for Kaylessa’s dumb-struck face, a small cloud of descending arrows rained down on the pair. Sharpened metal tips punctured both living and dead flesh, allowing the slender wooden shafts to sink deeply into Shelara and Kaylessa. Shelara grunted as an arrow punched through the back of her shoulder. Another sliced across the side of her neck before plunking into Kaylessa’s belly. She took one to her calf, one through her left wrist, and the dozen or so remaining arrows made a bloody pincushion out of her back as she slumped over her dead friend.

Ysildea Oriior had been struggling to hold herself together. Seeing Kaylessa and Shelara killed pushed her past the point she could handle. Ignoring the impending danger, she darted out from behind the boulder, thinking only of escape. The drow archers were ready for her. She made it only a few steps before a trio of arrows slammed into her back. Her movements faltered, legs wobbling before giving out. She landed hard on her knees before faceplanting into the dirt, straining to breathe through her punctured lungs. Her plump buttocks became an irresistible target for the archers. Ysildea’s face constricted with fresh pain as an arrow ripped through the perky flesh of her right ass cheek. The next shot came in lower, embedding itself in her upper thigh. Her hands clawed at the ground, tried to keep moving, but she could only squirm as her upraised posterior was filled with more arrows. As her life fluttered away, the last thing the doomed elf felt as a particularly well aimed arrow sheathing itself into her cunt, tip lodged through her uterus, before she finally settled into death.

A few terrible moments were all it took to leave Nakiasha Liarel and Aleratha Lorakalyn all alone, cowering behind the boulder amidst the fresh carcasses of their fellow archers. They notched arrows into their bows, hoping to prepare themselves for the drow soldiers they heard rushing them down. Nakiasha let her arrow fly the moment she caught sight of movement. Her aim suffered from her haste, sending the projectile shooting uselessly over the enemy soldier’s head. Aleratha managed to do something to defend herself, at least, unleashing her final arrow into another drow soldier’s gut. She could only hope that the wound would prove to be fatal, giving her some form of delayed vengeance for the atrocities about to be committed upon her.

Nakiasha dropped her bow, stumbling back as she watched the drow swarm around the boulder. One snatched Aleratha and threw her to the ground on her hands and knees, moving after her to start tugging at her clothing. Others went to inspect Kaylessa, Shelara, and Ysildea’s bodies, lust clearly undeterred by the women’s lack of life. For a few precious moments, Nakiasha thought she might be sparred, overlooked in all the chaos. It would not be the first time. She was not ugly, but in terms of elven beauty, she was noticeably plain looking. It had been the source of a fair amount of self-loathing and had even contributed to her decision to join the military. Now, it seemed, her unnoteworthy looks might work for her instead of against her.

Then she heard the chittering laughter from behind and above her. Nakiasha turned slowly, head tilting back, face scrunching up with horror as she stared aghast at the trio of goblins who’d climbed the boulder. They leered down at her, waving and jerking their cocks in her direction. The elf turned and tried to run as the goblins dropped onto her, small hands gripping tightly and pulling her to the ground. She thrashed about wildly, trying to shake them loose as they tore at her clothing. One of the goblins – Teetmorx – hopped on the back of her head, smashing her face into the loose soil again and again until she was too dazed to put up an effective fight.

Rolling the disoriented elf onto her back, the goblins continued to strip her, leaving her clothing in tatters. She wasn’t fully nude, but any portion of her body she may have considered intimate was revealed to them. The two who’d spent their time removing the majority of Nakiasha’s pants – Biaq and Sliggeg – tugged her legs apart. Sliggeg moved between her thighs while Biaq crawled onto her belly, each of them guiding their impish faces to her exposed loins. Biaq’s clawed thumbs peeled Nakiasha’s cunt lips apart, revealing the glistening pink flesh within. The goblin slurped at the small nub of her clit while Sliggeg jabbed his tongue into her pussy. Nakiasha’s cheeks blushed with humiliated pleasure. She slapped a hand across her lips to stifle the unexpected moan as the goblins showed her just how skilled they were with their mouths.

While the others lathered the elf’s cunt in their saliva, Teetmorx fixed his attention on the woman’s modest breasts. One small hand gripped the pliant flesh of one, kneading at the soft mound while his lips smacked hungrily over the nipple of her other tit. The goblins were known for being skilled tinkerers, but machinery was not the only thing they enjoyed tinkering with. A woman’s body was not so different from any other mechanical design. Twist the right nobs, turn the right dials, and certain effects could be accomplished with relative ease. The three goblins working Nakiasha over were very accomplished engineers of flesh. Despite the elf’s despair and shame, the orgasmic sensations overwhelmed her. When he felt she was ready, Teetmorx reached up and guided her hand away from her moaning lips, chuckling as she allowed him to unleash her cries of ecstasy without even a hint of struggle.

As the goblins continued to break Nakiasha into becoming an obedient and wanton whore, Aleratha suffered a much less pleasant fate. Of the two surviving elf archers, she was far more fetching. Straight black hair that stretched down to the curve of her pert buttocks, snow white skin with icicles for eyes, and breasts that retained a stunning perkiness despite their size. If her final shot hadn’t drawn drow blood, she’d have been a prime candidate for becoming a slave to the invading race. The gut-shot drow might have survived the wound she’d caused, but he could no longer function in battle, so he was promptly dispatched. With a drow soldier’s death on her shoulders, Aleratha’s life was forfeit. Not that the other drow gathered around her much cared for vengeance. They mostly took it as a chance to use her roughly and to the point of expiration without fear of consequences.

When Trelgath Vrammyr moved behind Aleratha, she’d already been thoroughly used. Her asshole hung open, pussy leaking the combined seed of the half-dozen men who’d used her already. Not that he cared. Feeding his cock up her gaping rear, Trelgath easily worked his way into a steady rhythm of spirited pumps. He picked up the elf’s bow, admiring its elegant design. Like the woman who’d wielded the weapon, it was a thing of beauty. It seemed only fitting to use the bow against her. Turning it in his hands, Trelgath pulled the taut bowstring over Aleratha’s head and pulled it back across her throat. The sudden clenching of her mostly ruined anal muscles added some much needed stimulation to his thrusts. His fingers tightened around the curved length of intricately carved wood, pulling back harder, crushing the elf’s throat closed as he forced her up onto her knees.

Aleratha brought her hands up, fingers digging into her skin as she tried to work them under the bowstring. Her mouth gaped open, tongue dragging across her lips as urgent gags crept through her mostly constricted windpipe. The expansive pale flesh of her breasts danced seductively, soft pink nipples tight from her fear. She mashed the meat of her ass against her rapist, gyrating against him as she fought against the asphyxiation. Tears obscured her vision, face growing hot and damp with sweat as her complexion turned a bright shade of red. Spots of crimson tinged the whites of her eyes, contrasting against the vibrant blue of her irises. When clawing the bowstring away didn’t work, she stretched her arms back, pawing at the drow. Saliva poured from her open mouth, pouring over her chin and layering the tops of her breasts. Her brain grew hazy as her strangulation continued, struggling to remember why she was so terrified, what the fleshy rod lodged so deep up her ass was. Aleratha’s struggles slackened, arms growing heavy as her face went purple. She gave off awkward jerks, the sound of fleshy smacking growing dim in her dying ears.

With a satisfied groan, Trelgath fired his seed into Aleratha’s bowels. A heavy spray of urine drained out of her, washing away some of the cum clinging to the insides of her trembling thighs. Her bulging eyes were rolled up, showing only a bloodshot crimson. Releasing his hold on the bow, the dead elf flopped forward, jizz-packed ass propped into the air.

* * *

Only a handful of magically endowed elves had been assigned to the rescue mission, meant to operate as support for the foot soldiers. Their abilities made them prime targets, immediately marked for termination. It wasn’t long before only two elven mages remained, fighting desperately to keep their lives. Ghilanna Jobalar and Lierin Morixsys stood only a few feet apart, working together in their attempt to beat back the powerful drow wizard who faced them. The man – Koszar Nirune – had been having some fun with the pair, amused by their attempts to overwhelm his magic with their own. The two were novices, that much was very clear, barely dangerous enough to qualify for execution. But orders were orders. As he watched Ghilanna conjure a ball of rumbling fire into her palm, he prepared to finish the encounter.

Blinking the sweat from her eyes, Ghilanna cocked her arm back and flung the fireball at Koszar. The sphere of flickering flames made it only halfway to its target before its trajectory shifted. With a casual wave of his hand, Koszar took control of Ghilanna’s conjured flame and gave it an extra burst of energy and speed, shooting it into the second mage’s ill-prepared body. Lierin shrieked as the fireball exploded over her, enveloping her in scorching heat. The flicker of orange flames consumed her, shifting into a pale blue as the fire intensified. Her clothing was burned to cinders in an instant, the naked flesh beneath glowing at the heart of the inferno before the devastation of the wildfire proved too much for her inherent magical resistances.

Ghilanna stared at the screaming plume of fire, horrified and guilt-ridden as she watched Lierin’s flesh sloshing away from her blackened bones. The loss of focus proved fatal as Koszar closed the distance to her. She managed a half-formed plea for mercy before the wizard’s hands came up, clutching at the sides of her head. As Lierin’s shrieks faded away, Ghilanna’s began as powerful arcs of crackling electricity shot from the drow’s fingers and into her head. Her body flailed about, muscle control stolen from her by the electrocution. Saliva boiled in her mouth, steaming past her lips, eyes turning red as blood vessels exploded within them. Blood leaked from her ears as her brain tore itself apart from the electrical convulsions running through her. A simple flex of his fingers was all Koszar needed to drive the final jolt of power needed to cause the elf’s head to explode within his grip. He let the flow of electricity slacken, releasing his hold on the shuddering corpse and letting it drop to the ground.

* * *

The elven army’s foot soldiers were the most numerous branch, capable soldiers well-trained to defend themselves. But with their support systematically stripped away from them and their general struggling to organize them into some manner of effective fight force against the unexpectedly large attack, they proved hopelessly ineffective against the wave of death and rape that washed over them. Entire squads of soldiers were cut down, butchered where they lay. An unlucky few survived the onslaught, hauled away to join the rest of the elf prisoners on their way to a life of sexual servitude.

Argha the Butcher, a giant of an orc wielding a giant meat cleaver, had charged into the fray, eager to begin the slaughter. He felt little in the way of sexual desire for the elves he hacked to bits, getting off on the act of chopping them into bloody slabs of meat. Arilemna Uriwynn had been one of his victims. He’d take exquisite joy in slamming his blood-soaked blade through her soft flesh, reducing her to a gruesome pile of carnage. Once she’d been broken down, he moved on, already setting his sights on another sow ready for harvesting. The drow soldiers following in the orc’s wake had their own degrees of bloodlust, but their regular lust was stronger, albeit not very discerning. The Butcher’s leftovers became their fresh playthings as they gathered up the discarded pieces of Arilemna and found creative means of violating them. Tangles of guts used as masturbatory aids, cocks sliding through all of her natural orifices and a few of the gory slashes that had been created during her butchering. Their cum blended with her blood, soaked her organs, left her as an even more disgusting pile of slop.

Aravae Virquinal witnessed every moment of Arilemna’s gory demise. She’d had little choice in the matter, being pinned beneath a drow soldier as he drove roughly into her bared cunt. The pain and humiliation of her rape was bad, but it wasn’t until she saw Argha stomping towards her that she truly began to panic. The drow groaned, fucking her harder, as the orc chopped his way through Aravae left arm, breaking it down into three pieces at her wrist, elbow, and shoulder. Each hack of the cleaver made the woman howl, her body jerking beneath him, pussy hugging him tighter. Argha yanked her left leg out to the side, far enough to avoid hitting the drow soldier as he went to work on the limb. The soldier kept on hammering away at Aravae’s diminishing form until she was nothing more than a torso and a head. The woman’s now weak screams came to an end as the Butcher brought his cleaver down across her neck. The soldier drew free from the elf’s pissing slit, rising to his feet as the orc hefted the woman’s head high into the air, letting out a triumphant bellow. When the head was lowered, the soldier was waiting for it, accepting it from the Butcher and sheathing his aching prick up the back of Aravae’s throat.

There was little in the way of triumph to be found on the elf side of the battle. Victories were meager compared to losses. A few particularly skilled soldiers stood out among the majority. Phaerille Leogeon was one of those few. Even with the tide turned firmly against her, surrounded by adversaries and hopelessly outnumbered, she fought with determined bravery, cutting down the enemy at every turn. Her movements were fluid and smooth, performing a deadly dance as she gave herself over completely to the flow of the fight, moving from one target to the next. When a drow finally managed to land a fatal strike to her, it came just as fast. The sharp blade cut her throat with smooth ease, blood rolling down her chest as she made it several more steps before she realized something was wrong. Her experienced sword tumbled from her hands as they reached up to clasp around the deep gouge. Her face constricted with confusion and sadness as she dropped to her knees, the exhaustion of her performance catching up to her fast now that she was bleeding out.

The drow responsible for cutting the skilled soldier’s throat denied her an honorable passing, stepping before her and yanking her hands away from her neck. He shoved the head of his erection through the wound he’d given her, plugging her torn esophagus and fucking his way up into her mouth. He watched her upturned face growing pale as her hot blood pumped over his thrusting shaft and across his swaying balls. The light in her eyes was still twinkling as he came, a flow of cum dribbling from her lips. Satisfied, he slid free of the woman’s severed throat and shoved her to the ground where she finished bleeding out.

In terms of body counts attributed to singular entities within the extermination of the elf army, it was hard for even the Butcher to compete against Turot. The ogre had a significant size and durability advantage with a desire to kill that matched anyone else on the battlefield. After stomping the badly beaten Keishara Balgwyn’s head into a messy paste, he snatched up Cithrel Dorsandoral into one huge hand. She kicked and flailed, punching at the tough flesh of his wrist as he tugged aside his loin cloth to reveal his gargantuan cock. He did not bother stripping the snared elf. He had no need to. He simply brought her down onto the tip of his member, pushing hard between her legs until he ripped through the clothing and forced his way into her terribly undersized cunt. As her legs popped from their sockets, Cithrel’s struggles faded away, reduced to helpless squirming and screaming.

Turot fucked his way up into the elf’s gut, using only a third of his horrifying length to violate her. Her twisted intestines became tangled around his cockhead, organs massaging his sensitive flesh before they were popped and flattened. Cithrel’s body vibrated as the ogre’s daunting load surged up his shaft. She choked on the cum that rushed up the back of her throat, watching in horror as her slender belly expanded at an alarming rate. The ogre closed his fingers around the upper portion of her body, easily ripping the woman in half and unleashing the torrent of jizz packed into her. He chucked her still-living upper half aside, taking hold of her flopping legs to continue fucking her lower half. The blend of drow and goblins that converged on Cithrel’s upper half were amused by the elf’s tenacious life, dropping over her to use her mouth and cleavage to satisfy their urges.

* * *

Given the horrors transpiring across the battlefield and the clear signs that the elves would not be winning the fight, no one could judge Rallientha Raloynore for the treacherous cowardice that claimed her heart. That was how she felt, at least, as she threw down her sword and ran towards the drow soldiers. She’d seen how the drow were taking some of the women prisoner. A life spent servicing the invading race was still a life. Her hands went to her chest, urgently tugging open her uniform and freeing her breasts. “I submit!” she called, desperation in her words and her eyes. She shook her perky tits, cradling the mounds of flesh in her hands. “I will do anything to serve you! Please! Take me!”

A glimmer of hope shined in Rallientha’s eyes as a drow soldier approached her. “Do you like what you see?” she offered, giving him a flirtatious smile. “I’ll be yours. I’ll be your dirty little wh-urk!”

The soldier ended her seductive words with the tip of his sword, shoving it through the pale flesh of her cleavage without hesitation. In truth, the drow did like what he saw – the elf’s tits were perfect – but he liked the look of shocked betrayal on her face more. Her legs failed her and he let her drop to her knees, pathetic sobs pouring out of her as she begged him for a reason why he didn’t want her. He yanked his sword back through her chest, casually stepping behind her. He silenced her sobs with another strike of his sword, hacking Rallientha’s head from her shoulders.

* * *

Syllana had no more troops to command. They were all either dead or captured. The sight of the battlefield littered with corpses – the women nearly all violated – stirred her rage as she was subdued by the drow soldiers. Her fear was minimal. She was a general and, beyond that, a daughter of the ruling family. She was far too valuable to kill. Likely the scum would ransom her off back to the kingdom. They would have their fun with her. That much was obvious as her captors tore her armor and the clothing beneath it away, freeing and rubbing at their offensive pricks. Beasts will be beasts, she thought, shifting her glare from one male to the next, committing each of their faces to memory with the intent of hunting them down and killing them later.

The drow soldiers dragged Syllana, naked and frothing with fury, in front of the gathering of enslaved elf women deemed worthy enough to keep alive. She recognized some of them as soldiers in her army, ashamed to see what had been done to them, what they’d been reduced to. She’d expected the women she commanded – more so than the men – to represent stalwart examples of excellence. Seeing even a handful of them reduced to drooling, moaning whores disappointed her greatly. The faces she didn’t recognized she assumed had been residents of the small town that had been the start of this whole nightmare. Syllana judged them less harshly, but not by much. If they’d been stronger, better prepared for the attack that had doomed their town, her army would still be intact. All of this for a few miserable peasants, she thought, bitterness staining her mind.

Firming her jaw, Syllana glowered at the horde of mixed races. “Come on, then,” she barked in a challenging tone. “Show me what pathetic men you are. Do what you like to me with your filthy cocks. You will not break me.”

With such a bold challenge thrown down, the drow army could not resist the defiant general’s allure. Syllana did her best to show the captive elves how strong she was as she was pulled around between the horny hordes of males, holes stuffed with their rigid flesh and skin layered in their horrid seed. She fell into a kind of meditative trance, ignoring the sensations flowing through her body, even as the talented goblins teased and fucked her with their fingers and tongues. The lack of response was impressive as her body was forced through one orgasm after the next, pounded and violated and used in every sense of the word. The mass rape went on for hours, leaving her tired but no less defiant. The first shimmer of emotion other than quiet anger came as her eyes fixed upon the albino drow woman moving towards her. Her pale flesh was shocking, as was the authority she seemed to wield amongst the army of purely male troops.

Syllana’s body felt heavy, from the fatigue of her overworked muscles and the layers of cum covering every inch of her skin. The majority of the seed had grown cold, causing her to shiver. “Are you the bitch in charge?” she growled out as Irae stopped before her. “If you want me to submit, you’re going to be very disappointed.”

Irae responded with a condescending smile. She extended a hand towards the general, placing her thumb against the center of Syllana’s forehead. She rubbed away the jizz covering her so she could get a proper touch against her skin. The elf tried to pull away but found that she couldn’t. Irae’s thumb felt fused to her skin, despite there being no obvious connection between them. Then the pain came. A sharp stabbing streak from the base of her skull, curling up through her brain, and out through the point the drow albino touched her at. The pain- though short lived – was strong enough to succeed where the endless stream of rapes had failed. Syllana let out a cry of agony, tears breaking free to roll down her cum-smeared cheeks. Then Irae removed her thumb and stepped back. The agony remained, although diminished, along with an icy dread. Syllana stared up at Irae with a new form of shock. “What are you?” she muttered, feeling as if some critical piece of her very essence had just been stolen from her.

Irae gave her no response, maintaining her smile as she turned and moved away from the kneeling general.

Having proven himself during the brutal slaughter of the elven army, Turot was given the honor of executing the elf general. The woman’s face filled with unease as she heard the thudding stomps of the ogre approaching her from behind. She turned her head, looking back and up to the lumbering beast advancing on her, staring at the hideous length of his battering ram cock. “I… wait…” she gasped, turning to fix her gaze on Irae. “I’m important. I am the general of this army, the daughter of the ruling family. You have to keep me alive. You have to ransom me back, or keep me enslaved. You can’t… kill me! I’m too important to die!” She aimed a finger at the collection of captured women. “You’re supposed to kill those commoner bitches, you idiot. They’re expandable!”

Syllana’s bafflement of the drow’s decision became pure panic as Turot’s massive hand closed around her waist. The feeling of weightlessness overcame her as the hulking behemoth hefted her into the air before him. She brought her hands down, trying to claw her fingers into the ogre’s fingers. The bulbous tip of the ogre’s member pressed against the cleft of her firm buttocks. She shook her head wildly, spirit finally and suddenly broken as she felt the instrument of her ultimate destruction knocking at her tight asshole. “Get off of me, you filthy beast!” she howled, eyes wide with bestial panic. The captives watched as the proud, self-centered general became a screeching mess, humbled by the unstoppable might of the ogre’s eager cock-flesh. The cum draining from her throughly raped asshole sloshed across the tip of Turot’s dick, lubricating him. Not that the ogre needed much in the form of lubrication to gain entrance to the squirming woman’s rear. He had more than enough strength and experience to achieve that goal. Tightening his grip on her, he yanked her back against his erection, drawing a high-pitched howl from Syllana’s lips as he wedged the tip of his cock into her ass, snapping her sphincter and fucking a thick bulge against her slender belly.

Syllana’s mouth gaped open, the perfect representation of pure agony frozen in place, as Turot forced two feet of his massive flesh-rod into her body. He ripped through her bowels, pulped her organs and left her intestines stretched and tangled around his girth. Uncurling his fingers from around Syllana’s distended gut, the ogre planted his palms across the tops of her shoulders. A hard, downward shove left the head of his prick lodged within her rib cage. Syllana gagged, vomited a violent spray of gore, and then fell into a series of repetitive, hoarse screams of agonized horror. Her brow furrowed with misery, tilting her face back as a thick shadow fell across her. She shook her head dumbly as the ogre lowered his hand over her, closing his fingers gently around the crown of her skull.

Syllana’s shrieks radiated over the prisoners. They listened to their prideful general’s psychotic, horrified howls as the ogre slowly stretched her head upwards, straining the elf’s spine, skin, and muscle. Whatever admiration they had for the woman vanished completely as they watched her transformed into a pathetic slab of weak flesh, unable to save herself, unwilling to defend them. Her opinion of them had been made clear in the moments before the start of her perverse execution. None of the prisoners shed a tear for Syllana as she suffered. They had their own problems to deal with.

Turot pulled slowly, stretching Syllana’s neck like a fleshy length of taffy. The pop of her vertebrae giving way sent a wild series of spasms through her face, screams intensifying. A gruesome seem of tearing skin started at the base of her neck and quickly dragged around the circumference. Blood sprayed from the ragged seam, gushing across her chest and down her back, washing away the layer of spunk in a sea of crimson. The elf’s screams became a wet whistling as Turot pried her misery-stricken head away from her flailing body. Syllana’s face was just slackening into death as the ogre got off on her body’s death spasms. A violent eruption of thick spunk shot from her ragged neck stump, soaking her decapitated head thoroughly before washing the sheen of blood away from her body, returning it to a cum-glazed state.

After proudly displaying the general’s head to the prisoners and the cheering drow soldiers, Turot lowered it into Irae’s waiting hands. He turned away, continuing to enjoy the dead woman’s body. Irae wiped the layer of fresh ogre jizz away from Syllana’s horrified visage, frozen in death. Her fingers nimbly moved across the cooling meat, forcing the small sliver if life she’d stolen from the elf back into her. With her diaphragm shredded and her lungs far out of reach, Syllana had no way of truly expressing the pain and terror she felt as she was brought back to life in a ghoulish fashion. Irae laughed, leaning in to hungrily lick away the blend of cum and blood covering the undead elf head’s face. “Don’t look so surprised, my dear,” she purred, fingering Syllana’s torn throat hole. “Don’t you know that you’re too important to die? We have to return you to your parents. They’ll be so surprised to see you.”


	4. The Infiltration

This is an especially brutal story, filled with torture, rape, and snuff. Be sure this is a thing you want to read before continuing. 

Nimor Imphraezl stretched out on the well-cushioned cot, releasing a low groan of tired relief. His muscles ached – some more than others – from the extensive work he’d performed over the course of the long night, but his mind was fresh with the vivid memories of the pleasure he’d taken from his grisly business. While Irae led the drow’s military forces to ensure the bulk of the elf army was taken care of, he’d taken a smaller group of assassins deeper into the elf territory, infiltrating their capitol city. There weren’t many elves left to guard the city, and none of them expected to an enemy force to attack. As Nimor prepared to get some much-deserved rest, he did so with the knowledge that the meager fighting force remaining in the elf city had been dealt with, most of them swiftly carried into death as they slept, knives dragged across their throats.

But there had been a few special cases that Nimor had happily handled himself. Slipping a hand down the front of his pants, he felt his member stirring despite his fatigue as he thought over the fun he’d had over the course of the night.

* * *

Earlier that night…

Ialantha Neridithas was stirred from her sound slumber by an odd noise. With the fog of sleep still clogging her thoughts, it took the young priestess a few moments to locate the source of the sound. There were a half-dozen beds in the communal sleeping quarters. The sound came from the bed adjacent to hers – the one belonging to Pyria Aeqirelle. Ialantha’s eyes went wide, hand moving up to cover a shocked gasp, as she realized what was happening. Pyria had snuck a man into the temple. She could see his dark figure lying over Pyria, grinding into her with steady strokes. They were doing their best to keep the volume of their lovemaking down, but it was obvious what they were up to.

Priestesses were expected to maintain their purity throughout their lives. The fact that many of them didn’t was a semi-open secret. As long as they didn’t flaunt their trysts or got themselves pregnant, the dalliances were largely ignored. The fact that Pyria had invited her lover into the temple to tend to her needs was incredibly risky. But as Ialantha watched the shadowy figures moving against each other, she didn’t give a single thought to sounding the alarm. Her own purity was still intact, but it did not relieve her of her own desires. So the young elf stayed quiet as she carefully worked a hand into the loose clothing she wore, fingers wandering across the warm lips of her cunt. She wiggled her index finger into her tight hole, trying to imagine how a real cock would feel inside her, jealous of Pyria for getting to experience the genuine act.

Pyria was not having the fun Ialantha thought she was. She stared up at the drow assassin with wide, tear-filled eyes, struggling to cry out through her mostly constricted throat. Nimor leered down at her, grinding his hips forward as he slid his rigid cock into her clenching pussy. He’d slipped into the temple unseen and had easily killed all but two of the priestesses snuggled up into their beds with ease. They’d been beauties, all of them, but Pyria and Ialantha had stood out amongst them. Pyria with her golden hair and angular features, Ialantha with her youthful cuteness and pixie-cut black hair. They demanded his full, terrible attention. Digging his thumbs into Pyria’s bruised throat, he drove into her harder, happy that he would have the chance to fully enjoy the elf’s body before needing to dispatch her.

Nimor was well aware of Ialantha’s eyes on him. He’d sensed her stirring even before she’d been roused fully from her sleep. He’d been primed and ready to snap his unwilling lover’s neck and dart over to the adjacent bed if need be. But the young priestess had given him an unexpected, but very amusing, surprise. Instead of calling for help, she’d started to masturbate. Dumb girl thinks her friend’s having a midnight rendezvous, he thought, grinning down at Pyria’s flushed, sweaty face. I imagine she wishes I was over there right now, giving her the hard fuck I’m giving her friend here. Don’t worry, my dear, I’ll be with you shortly.

Nimor leaned in, kissing against Pyria’s lips and sucking at her bulging tongue, both for his own pleasure as well as to further push the illusion that he was the priestess’s secret lover instead of her killer. The way her hands pawed at him, fingernails digging into his arms, made it look like she was writhing in barely restrained ecstasy. As her struggles faltered, bulging eyes filling with the horror of her oncoming death, Nimor quickened his strokes. He grunted softly across her discolored face as the final shudders of her life rolled through her sweaty body, the damp heat of her spilled urine flowing across his pulsing member as he drained his hot load into her trembling sex. He remained entwined with her limp form for a few moments longer, subtly reaching up to close her bloodshot eyes. In the shadows, the bruises around her throat weren’t immediately obvious and with her eyes closed, Pyria looked as if she were sleeping off the vigorous pounding she’d endured.

Ialantha frowned as she watched Pyria and her mystery lover reach the culmination of their carnal act. Her cunt was soaked with juices, but she’d not yet managed to get off. Not wanting to be caught spying, she carefully eased her fingers out of her sticky snatch and smoothly rolled onto her side, facing away from Pyria’s bed. She let her eyes slip closed, miming sleep. She’d maintain the façade until she heard the man slip out of the room, maybe a little longer to ensure Pyria had succumbed to the fatigue of her promiscuous behavior, then she could finish herself off. Her loins burned, demanding attention, cunt lips throbbing from her stirred arousal. As she waited impatiently for the man to leave, she decided that she’d waited too long to find a secret lover for herself. She needed a proper fucking, and soon. Ialantha turned her thoughts to all the handsome young men she knew, mentally auditioning them for the role she so desperately needed.

Ialantha gasped as the blanket covering her was lifted. Pyria’s mystery man slid smoothly onto the bed behind her, the stiff tip of his erection pressing against her buttocks. Did Pyria catch me watching? Did she ask him to give me some attention before he left? With her body thoroughly aroused and mind primed with an urgent need for sex, she didn’t give the questions much thought. She whimpered softly as one of the man’s hands slid around her to cup her perky breast. Ialantha adjusted her legs, parting her thighs to allow the man to slip his member between them. Her breath quickened as she felt the tip of his cock drag through the damp cleft of her pussy. The sensation of his hot, firm flesh rubbing against her sent her to the cusp of her illusive orgasm. When he adjusted himself to push into her, she barely managed to take his cockhead into her before she went tense, burying her face in her pillow as she moaned loudly, tears of pleasure bursting from her tightly shut eyes.

The glorious tightness of Ialantha’s virgin cunt helped Nimor resist letting out a cackle of mockery at how willing the little priestess slut was. She did not care that he was a stranger to her, her lust blinding her to just how still he’d left Pyria. He happily plunged his full length up her gripping snatch, enjoying the spastic convulsions of her urgent orgasms around him. He kneaded the flesh of her tit, pulling it free from the loose fabric of her white negligee. She leaned into his groping, pushing her ass back to meet his thrusts. For a first timer, Ialantha found the natural rhythm of sex with surprising ease. She was so engrossed with the pleasure his strokes forced into her that she didn’t even find the means to resist him as his hand slid up from her chest to close his fingers firmly around her slender throat.

By the time a spark of panic shot through Ialantha, Nimor already had his other arm snaked between her body and the bed, hooked around her to hold her body firmly as his grip tightened around her throat. The young priestess’s brief foray into a waking erotic fantasy became a cruel nightmare as she wheezed to catch oxygen in her straining lungs. Flecks of saliva sprayed from her lips as they pulled back, revealing bared teeth. Her body jerked, trying to tug away from her mystery lover but only managing to grind her smooth ass back against his forceful pumps. The smooth, stiff flesh of his cock buried inside her wet sex still felt incredibly, but the pleasant tingles radiating up through her overstimulated loins were now tinged with terror. Her fear spiked to greater heights when she managed to catch a glimpse of her lover’s skin. She’d assumed his dark visage had been a result of the thick shadows dousing the room. In truth, his complexion was a glossy obsidian, revealing his drow heritage.

How? How is he here? Ialantha’s panicked thoughts rushed through her mind, wavering as fresh jolts of orgasmic release were forced into her. She was aware of that a large portion of the army had gone out to handle a drow raid, but she’d believed enough soldiers had remained behind to keep them all safe. A drow attack at the heart of the capitol city felt like an impossible scenario, even with the cruel drow assassin’s fingers strangling the life out of her. Her arms shot out, fingers clawing towards the bed opposite from her. With her impending demise rushing towards her, Ialantha managed to see a little clearer in the dark, the details of the priestess across from her coming into focus. The woman’s eyes were closed, but she was no longer sleeping. The deep gash across the front of her throat was still leaking a slow flow of her blood into the bedsheets, but the woman’s heart had stopped some time ago. She didn’t need to see the state of the other priestesses in the room to know that none of them could help her.

Being the last priestess left alive in the temple, Nimor took a little extra time with Ialantha. He savored the young woman’s terror and the way she couldn’t control her body as she writhed against his probing cock. She leaked her cunt honey over his shaft, leaving behind a wet patch of bedding between them. Her urgent gurgling inspired him to fuck her harder. She could not hide how much she enjoyed the rough, fatal treatment he was giving her, no matter how much it shamed her. He could have happily spent the rest of the night tormenting her, raping her again and again in her various holes, until he finally grew tired of her. But there were other victims to attend to, much work to be done under the cover of darkness while the elves remained oblivious to the threat infesting their city. As his balls tightened, he clamped down around Ialantha’s bruised throat and worked to finish both her and himself off. He came hard into her dying cunt, certain that she still had just enough life left in her to feel the first and final load of hot male spunk being fed into her sexy body. He maintained his grip on her until he finished draining his cum into her. Withdrawing from her sticky slit, Nimor slid out of the bed, letting Ialantha’s limp corpse to roll onto her back. He left her dead eyes open, staring blankly at the rafters as he moved silently from the room and back out into the night.

* * *

Jastira Balvyre had been ecstatic when she’d earned the privilege of becoming Rania Orimvar’s apprentice. The woman was a well-renowned wizard and to be taught by her would give her the tools required to become just as powerful. The demands of her apprenticeship had required her to move in with Rania. The older elf was as remarkable a teacher as she was a physical beauty. When the motherly love and tutelage Rania showed Jastira became something more, the young woman had been surprised once more. Her training was impacted only slightly as their relationship bloomed. Their days were spent engaging in expanding Jastira’s magical prowess, while their nights were dominated by Rania training the young elf in other forms of physical magic.

Nimor discovered the pair shortly after one of those strenuous sessions, tightly entwined in their shared bed, skin still glistening with the sweat they’d shed during their passionate act. They hardly stirred as he drizzled a slick oil across their naked flesh. The oil was imbued with magical properties. As it soaked into their pores, it negated their inherent abilities, cutting off their connection to the mystical forces they called upon. Without the aid of their spells, the pair would be little danger to him. Nimor gave the oil time to work as he worked a powerful tonic into the fabric of a dirty rag. Confident that Jastira and her mistress were magically neutered, he leaned across their slumbering forms and clamped the rag over Rania’s mouth and nose. Her eyes shot open, surprise flashing in them before the tonic tugged her back into an unconscious state. Jastira lifted her head, groggily blinking up at him. She let out a startled yell that he muffled with the damp rag. In moments, both elves were reduced to unconscious, drugged heaps, giving Nimor all the time he needed to arrange them for the fun he had in mind.

The ropes he used on them came from Rania’s personal belongings. They were a creation of her own design, made to enhance the physical sensations the bound person felt. As he laid the apprentice across the end of the worktable, he easily spotted the chaffing of her skin where the ropes had previously bound her. He chuckled as he worked the magic ropes around the marks, tying her down to the table with her bare ass left on display. Hauling Rania over, he trussed her up similarly. In their restrained positions, they could look forward and see the other. He force a pair of panties into each of the women’s mouths, using two more short lengths of rope to tie the gags into place. All it took was a crack of smelling salts under their noses to rouse them from their drugged slumbers. The women were alarmed by their predicament, but the real fear came when they realized they could not use their magical abilities to free themselves and fight their unexpected intruder off.

Nimor paced around the two bound elves, leisurely admiring their impotent struggles while reaching out to grope their exposed buttocks. The effects of the magical ropes became clear to him as he watched the pair writhe more urgently each time his fingers sank into the pliant flesh of their rumps. Jastira seemed especially receptive to his touch, although her constricted face revealed how much she hated the feelings he forced into her. He stopped behind her, swatting at her ass and laughing as she let out barely restrained groans. The glare of hatred he caught from Rania was the last bit of incentive he needed to come to a decision regarding which of the two he wanted to start with. Settling in behind Jastira, he pulled his cock free and drizzled some more of the oil into the crack of her ass. He fingered the slick fluid up her rear, lubricating her effectively before pressing the thick head of his prick against her dampened sphincter.

Rania’s muffled yells of protest only encouraged Nimor to plunge his way deeper into the apprentice wizard’s ass. Jastira’s eyes bulged and crossed as the heightened sensations rushed through her. She groaned, drool soaking into the crumpled wad of underwear in her mouth before leaking past her lips. With the oil slickening his cock, the drow had little trouble ramming his full length into the young elf’s rear. Her anal muscles clenched around him, hugging him firmly as he dragged back and forth inside her. The pain and horror of her situation helped to diminish the pleasure enough that Jastira managed to hold onto her sanity. She stared ahead at her teacher-turned-lover, tears leaking out of her eyes as she unleashed a tirade of muffled pleas for Rania to do something. Rania helplessly struggled against the ropes holding her down, shedding her own tears as she watched her beloved apprentice suffer a vicious anal plundering.

Nimor left Jastira’s asshole gaping, withdrawing from her and moving around the table to take aim at Rania’s exposed hole. Taking hold of her hips, he worked his way into the elf, resuming his firm strokes, letting the wizard feel what her apprentice had suffered through moments ago. Rania took her anal rape in stride, settling down a little now that she was the focus of Nimor’s perverse attentions. Jastira watched Rania’s rape with dismay, but it wasn’t nearly as intense as the blend of terror and hatred that had flashed in the elder wizard’s eyes when he’d been playing with her apprentice. He gave Rania’s ass a few more solid pumps before pulling free. The older elf was already back to straining against her ropes wildly even before Nimor returned to Jastira.

The apprentice’s asshole took his cock back with no resistance. Nimor gave her a few firm strokes before drawing his dagger. He held the curved blade up, letting Rania see the weapon while Jastira remained oblivious to its presence. The frantic panic he saw spread across the elder wizard’s face brought a smile to his face. He watched her spirit shatter, her defiance flowing away, replaced with an urgent pleading for her apprentice’s life. The wizard would have offered him anything in that moment. Her body, her obedience, her life, whatever strategic knowledge she possessed, any valuables or property she owned, anything at all, just to spare Jastira the fate he was presenting.

Nimor slid the razor-edged blade against Jastira’s throat, let it linger there for a few moments so that Rania could soak in the reality of what she was about to witness. With the enhanced sensations running through her, Jastira didn’t even realize the danger she was in until the drow was dragging the knife through her soft flesh. Her eyes went wide, staring at the rush of blood spraying out of her and across the table. Rania screamed into her gag, sobbing and flailing within her bindings as she watched her lover rapidly bleed out before her. The wizard was a broken shell by the time Jastira’s head slumped forward, body shuddering into death as Nimor gave her inert form a few more quick thrusts. He came into her bowels, barely losing any of his rigidity as he savored the elder elf’s misery.

Nimor pulled out of the dead elf’s rear and walked back to Rania. She glared up at him with bitter hatred and utter sadness. With the tears glistening in her eyes, the assassin could think of no better target for his dagger. He jabbed the tip through the wizard’s left eye, deflating the fleshy orb and scooping it out of the socket. Flicking the ruined eye to the floor, he took hold of his cock and guided it to the bloody hole left behind. He hooked his fingers around the back of Rania’s head, holding her firmly as he invaded her socket, mashing the tip of his erection against the back of it. His fingers tightened within her hair, abs flexing as he gathered his strength. With a hard, firm jab, Nimor bashed his way through the thin layer of bone and fucked half the length of his erection into Rania’s squishy brain.

Rania’s remaining eye bulged, blood squirting from her nostrils. Her body went tense before falling into a series of spastic convulsions. Nimor caressed the brain-damaged wizard’s smooth hair as he dragged his cock back and forth through her bloody eye socket, fucking tunnels through her cerebral mass. Her thighs flexed, toes clenching against the floor as a powerful spray of piss escaped her crotch. Nimor chuckled at her shameful display, fucking her brain slowly but steadily, forcing her to suffer exquisitely as she slowly devolved into total oblivion. Chunks of grey matter slipped around his shaft, leaking over the bridge of Rania’s nose to plop messily on the table. Her convulsions settled into twitches and then nothing as the interior of her skull became a largely hollow, unsatisfying fuck-hole. Nimor pulled his gore-smeared prick free and stroked himself to completion, leaving the dead elf’s slack face glazed in his seed. Admiring his handywork, he tucked his spent cock away and slipped out of the room, leaving behind the gruesome remains of the lovers.

* * *

Keya Nerilamin trudged her way to Lixiss Raloxisys’s office, muttering soft curse under her breath with each step. Being the governess’s assistant was a lucrative position, at least for anyone who didn’t have to suffer working for the bitch of a woman. The late hours were only one of many, many grievances Keya had in regards to her boss. The woman was notoriously abusive, mean spirited, and prone to taking all of the credit for her beleaguered assistant’s hard work will sharing nothing in the way of gratitude. Keya felt trapped. Leaving the position was impossible. Even if she had the chance of finding work with a less repugnant benefactor, she didn’t think it likely that Lixiss would allow her to leave without first smearing her professional and personal reputation. The cunt was petty like that.

Stepping into Lixiss’s office with an armful of scrolls, Keya was startled by the scene before her. The governess, stripped bare and tied spread-eagle across the top of her desk. The terror in the woman’s eyes told her it was no embarrassing rendezvous of kinky behavior she’d stumbled upon. Keya let out a yelp as powerful hands gripped her by the shoulders, tugging her fully into the office. She heard the door shut behind her, the scattering of the scrolls falling from her hands and toppling to the floor, before she was thrust against the wall, eye-to-eye with the man responsible for her employer’s dire predicament. Keya saw certain death in the drow’s sparkling eyes, but her fear was short lived as her gaze shifted back to Lixiss.

“You’re torturing her,” she gasped, unable to hide the awe on her face.

Nimor nodded slowly, surprised that the elf wasn’t calling out for help and curious as to what it would lead to.

Keya forced her eyes back to the man. “You plan to kill her?”

Again, Nimor nodded.

“Let me help,” she insisted.

Confusion spread across Nimor’s face. “If you think this will save you…”

Keya shook her head. “I don’t care if it saves me. But you don’t know what a nightmare this woman truly is. If she’s meant to die tonight, just let me assist you. I’ll be good. And I promise not to fight you when it’s my time.”

“What if I want you to fight me when it’s your time?” he asked, smirking.

“Then that’s what I’ll do. Anything.” Her face hardened, a glimmer of sadistic excitement in her eyes as she looked back at Lixiss. “Just let me hurt her a little.”

After a moment of consideration, Nimor released his hold on her and stepped back, motioning to the victim tied across the desk. “By all means, hurt her a lot if you desire it. She’s in no position to stop you, and I have no desire to.”

Keya seemed stunned that he’d actually agreed to let her torture Lixiss. She slid away from the wall hesitantly, expecting him to change his mind and make another grab for her at any moment. The notion of using her earned freedom to make a run from the room, to raise the alarm or get some kind of help, never crossed her mind. As soon as she convinced herself the drow wasn’t going to immediately kill her, she focused all of her attention on the governess, all of the things she’d imagined doing to the woman over the years. A wicked smirk filled her face as she stomped towards Lixiss’s bound form. “It’s payback time, you bitch,” she muttered.

Keya eyed her employer’s plentiful curves, as well as the welts already covering her. The whip responsible for the wounds lay beside Lixiss. She younger elf scooped up the whip, giving it a few testing swings. She was already quite familiar with the whip, although she’d only ever been on the receiving end of it. Lixiss enjoyed cracking it across her arms or ass if she didn’t perform her duties fast enough. Taking a step back, Keya lashed out with the whip, delighting in Lixiss’s hiss of pain as a fresh welt rose across the tops of her breasts. She drew back and struck again, quickly finding a rhythm and feeling her excitement grow with each mark she left on Lixiss’s body.

Keya had expected the rush of satisfaction that came with torturing Lixiss, but the sudden surge of arousal surprised her. The knowledge that the drow assassin was watching her, waiting to kill her, was a factor, but most of the lust came from seeing the governess stripped bare and helpless before her. Tossing the whip down, she moved to the desk, leaning over and burying her face in the bound elf’s cunt. She moaned against the hot folds, rubbing at her breasts before sliding a hand down between her thighs. Keya lapped hungrily at Lixiss’s folds, wanting to humiliate her with unwanted pleasure. She worked her hand into her pants, under her panties, and rubbed her clit with firm pressure.

Lixiss’s juices began to flow against her will, her welted form writhing atop the desk as Keya’s tongue darted over her sex. She felt the governess’s body begin to tremble; a muffled moan of dismay forced from her as a heavy gush of orgasmic fluids splashed across her tongue. She whimpered into Lixiss’s pussy as she got herself off a moment later, fingers becoming soaked in her honey. Rising away from the governess’s cunt, she licked her lips and looked back to Nimor, yearning in her eyes. “Can I kill her?”

Nimor frowned. “How would you do it?”

Keya scooped the whip back up. “She loves this thing,” she explained. “Her father gave it to her when she was young. As long as I’ve known her, she’s never been far from it, constantly using it to abuse anyone who displeases her. I’d wrap this whip around her throat and strangle her. Let her die from the only thing in this world she truly cherishes.”

“I like it,” he nodded, motioning to Lixiss. “Go on, then. Give me a good show and I’ll reward you.”

Keya grinned and spun back to Lixiss, eyes lighting up with murderous glee. It was so very strange. She’d known the woman since her youth, had worked as her assistant for many years, but she’d found more kinship with a drow intent on murdering her in a handful of minutes than she’d developed with Lixiss over all that time. She collected the whip and leaned over the governess, looping the thin line of leather around her throat. “I wonder, do you even care that I’m going to die right after you do? And the only reason for it is because you were so eager to have me dig up those scrolls, so that you could steal land that doesn’t rightfully belong to you.” She let out a huff. “I doubt it. You’ve only ever cared about yourself. But you’ll at least get to do one thing for me before I die. You can suffer.”

Clutching each end of the whip, Keya yanked it tight around Lixiss’s neck. Her eyes fixed on the way the governess’s skin pressed inwards from the force of the leather biting into her. She relaxed her hold, letting the whip loosen for a moment, before tugging it tight again, basking in the fact that she was controlling the woman’s fate. Then she glanced up and saw the wild panic in Lixiss’s eyes and a slow laugh flowed out of her, rising in volume as she yanked at the whip. Lixiss gagged wetly, a thin bruise circling the smooth skin of her throat as the whip bit into her. Her body jerked atop the desk, sweaty breasts slapping against one another, thighs flexing as she strained against the ropes holding her down.

The power she felt drove Keya wild. She let Lixiss catch a few desperate gasps of fresh oxygen as she scrambled onto the desk and straddled the woman’s chest. She spat into the governess’s flushed face before yanking the whip tight again. “This is for every humiliation, every abuse, every cruel word you’ve ever rained down upon me,” she grunted, grinding her crotch against Lixiss’s belly. She leaned down, dragging her tongue across the governess’s cheek to taste the salt of her tears. Her hands began to ache from the tension in her knuckles, but she ignored it with ease, working the whip to prolong Lixiss’s suffering. Nimor had wanted a show and she was giving him a splendid one, but even the reward he’d tempted her with meant nothing to her. Ending the governess’s life slowly and painfully was all the reward she needed.

When the life finally blinked out of Lixiss’s bulging eyes, drool leaking from around the gag in her mouth and across the purple-hued flesh of her face, Keya cried out, shuddering through the most powerful orgasm she’d ever experienced. She loosened her grip on the whip, hands trembling, chest heaving, unable to look away from the governess’s dead face. “I did it,” she gasped. “I can’t believe I actually just killed her.”

Keya released a startled yell as Nimor’s powerful hands fell upon her again, dragging her off the governess’s corpse. She stumbled, too tired and too satisfied to fight against him as he bent her over Lixiss. He tugged down her pants, entering her roughly from behind. Keya’s eyes rolled back as her sensitive cunt was suddenly filled with his stiffness, moaning as she came again. She bucked back to meet his thrusts, unbothered by his race or his purpose as she enjoyed the post-murder fuck. She tilted her head to the side as his lips fell upon the side of her neck, kissing and nibbling at her skin. “It was a very nice show,” he whispered into her ear as his thrusts quickened. “For that, I give you the only gift I have to offer.” His hands moved up her sides, slid around to give her tits a quick grope before they travelled further to grasp her head. “A quick death.”

Nimor jerked Keya’s head to the side, ending her passionate moans with a nasty crunch as he broke her neck. The elf shuddered against him, pussy hugging his erection as she pissed over his balls. He let her twitching body fall across Lixiss, continuing his spirited pumps into her until he was ready to cum. Drawing free from her wet slit, he shot his creamy spunk over her pale buttocks. The governess’s assistant had been an unexpected treat. The passion she’d shown for murder had been inspiring. If Nimor had even a shred of mercy in his heart, he might have allowed her to live. But in the end, Keya was just like every other elf bitch. A fleeting bit of enjoyment to be used and discarded.


	5. The High Temple

This is an especially brutal story, filled with torture, rape, and snuff. Be sure this is a thing you want to read before continuing. 

The morning came far too soon, but Nimor awoke feeling eager to start the new day’s work. Sliding out of the cot, he readied himself before collecting the small band of assassins that had done equally vicious work under the cover of darkness. When Koszar Nirune arrived to pass along the message that the drow army was positioned just outside the city, ready to launch their attack on the fortified walls, Nimor knew it was time for his group to move on to the next phase of their orders. The streets were still largely shrouded in shadows as they slipped out into the city, weaving their way stealthily towards their target. The Temple of Corona occupied the highest point of the city, nestled atop a narrow cliffside that overlooked the rest of the structures, even the castle. It was as remote as it could be without leaving the border, requiring a winding path to reach the isolated point. By the time they reached the temple, the morning sun hung low in the sky. From their vantage point, they could see the drow army beginning their assault.

The time to strike was now.

The assassins caught the priestesses in the midst of their morning worship, praising their goddess Corona for the light of a new day. There were nine women in total, including the High Priestess. Each of them was stunningly beautiful, rumored to be untouched by any lover, although Nimor’s experience with the priestesses from the previous night made him suspicious of that claim. None of them were fighters. The High Priestess – Ahrendue Ralozana – did her best to keep the others calm as they were herded together, but the fear was clear even in her wise eyes. The presence of the drow so deep within the city and in such a holy place made it clear that something far worse than a simple raid was going on. As the echo of the priestesses’ chanted prayers and the barked orders of the drow assassins faded away, the air was left crisp and still, allowing the distant sounds of the attack taking place in the city below to be heard.

The priestesses grouped together tightly, all of them terrified, a few of them breaking into sobs. The others were clearly eager to start having some fun with the women, but Nimor had other ideas. With such a healthy crop of sexy flesh to harvest, any of the elves would make for excellent slaves. Taking all nine women as captives would be a logistical nightmare. Besides, looks could be deceiving and even he was eager to extinguish a few more elven lives. Random selection as one way to decide who got to live and who got to die, but Nimor could think of something far more entertaining. He aimed a finger at Ahrendue. “Have your fun with that one, boys,” he told the others. “Just make sure you don’t kill her.” His eyes moved across the rest of the trembling young women. “As for the rest of you… we’re going to have ourselves a little competition. The winners earn the privilege of becoming property of the drow empire. And if that doesn’t sound like something you’d enjoy, trust me, you do not want to be a loser.”

Koszar and a few of the assassins dragged Ahrendue away from the group, ripping through her elegant gown to expose her holy flesh. They forced her against the statue of Corona dominating the front of the temple, stretching her arms back and her legs apart. She was bound securely to the statue, unable to deny the men gathered around her as their rough hands groped and smacked her tits, probed her cunt. Koszar was the first to move in to take her properly. He brought a hand up to the woman’s chest, curling his fingers as a few sparks of electricity crackled across them. His fingers touched her, forcing the energy across her skin. It wasn’t strong enough to do any damage, but it did leave her nerve endings tingling, priming her body to be broken under the oncoming sexual assaults. Ahrendue’s body jerked and shuddered against the statue, teeth clattering as Koszar entered her with slow, steady force. He smirked as the warm walls of her pussy wrapped around him, looking into the woman’s horrified eyes. “A virgin, huh? You sure don’t feel like one. You naughty bitch.”

While the most eager members of his group focused their attentions on Ahrendue, Nimor and a handful of others went about organizing the competition for the other priestesses. The women were lined up, shoulder-to-shoulder, where the men could properly admire them. At Nimor’s order, their clothing was left intact. “Why should we waste our energy stripping them?” he told his compatriots. “When a proper slave should be more than happy to strip for us.” He walked in front of the line of priestesses, eyeing each of them. “So that will be the first round of our little game. It’s a simple one. Just expose yourselves to us. But do so with some style. You’ve danced for your pathetic goddess more than enough. Now you will dance for us.”

Minuvae Fanelis was only a little younger than Ahrendue. She took her duties as a priestess just as seriously, arguably more seriously as she’d maintained her virginity, finding relief for her natural desires through prayer. It was that sense of duty that inspired her to step forward from the line of women, locking eyes with Nimor. “We do not have the physical strength to deny you anything you wish. You can rape us, slaughter us, destroy our temple. But if you think we are so pathetic that we’ll simply do whatever you demand of us, denying our beliefs and the goddess we serve for the chance that you’ll spare our lives, you are gravely mistaken. I, for one, would rather die with my purity intact than grovel at the boots of your kind of filth.”

Nimor laughed. “Well said. And what an excellent example you’re setting for your fellow priestesses.” He stepped closer to her, staring deeply into her sparkling blue eyes. “You know, I’m known as a bit of a silver-tongued devil, able to talk nearly anyone into nearly anything. But with you, I can tell any words I spent would be wasted. Your beliefs are resolute. I imagine I could go out there, hunt down whatever family you might have, and execute them in front of you, and you’d still refuse to bend. So, congratulations, you are excused from the competition.”

The drow drew his dagger and shoved it into Minuvae’s gut. He aimed low, low enough that the tip of sharpened steel became the priestess’s first and only lover, penetrating her cunt from an unorthodox angle. She gasped, eyes going wide with shock. He kept the blade embedded within her, hooking his free arm around her shoulders to hold her close as he pulled her away from the other, terrified priestesses. As she stumbled along with him, he watched her resolve crumble away, falling into pathetic sobs. “W-wait,” she moaned. “I didn’t… mean it… I can st-strip. I can dance!”

Nimor shook his head. “Too late for that.” He guided her off to the side, over to the row of intricate statues lining either side of the temple. Each one represented a hero or heroine from elven history. More than a few of the figures displayed were familiar to him due to their roles in banishing the drow to the Underworld. “You have guts,” he told her, jerking the dagger upwards suddenly. Her screams rolled over him as he withdrew the blade and reached into the deep gash he’d left behind, scooping out a tangle of her intestines. He held them up to her face. “See?”

Nimor chucked the sloppy innards over the nearest statue, defiling the display. Minuvae’s legs gave out, dropping to her knees before the man as he leaned down to rip out more of her insides. She watched, face growing pale and weakness eating away at her, as more and more of her body was taken from her and used to disgrace the noble figure presented before her. She lived long enough to feel her unused reproductive system torn out from within, shoved onto the tip of the sword the statue held. Minuvae collapsed backwards, a hollowed-out husk. Nimor ripped a portion of her clothing away, using it to wipe the blood from his hands as he turned back to the remaining priestesses. He pointed down at the corpse. “And that’s what I do to people I have a little respect for,” he told them. “Imagine what I might do to someone who truly angers me.” He extended his arms to the side. “So, are we going to see some dancing or what?”

After witnessing Minuvae’s brutal butchering, none of the priestesses valued their beliefs enough to follow in her bloody footsteps. They each fell into a series of awkward but sensuous movements, running through the moves they’d practiced to show their goddess how much they loved her. Those performances didn’t include the removal of clothing, but they managed to adjust for it without utterly ruining their rhythm. The drow assassins whistled as they revealed their exquisite flesh, offering up a number of lewd suggestions for what the women could do next to prove that they’d be good slaves. Nimor listened to the ideas, but he already had a few of his own. Things that were a good deal more creative than simply making the women bestow sexual favors upon them.

“Excellent,” Nimor declared when the priestesses finished stripping. Even fully revealed, he could see no flaws in their physique. “Your assets truly have been wasted trapped up here in this temple. I have no doubt that you all deserve to be thoroughly trained in the art of being a fuck-slave. But I suspect some of you may be hiding certain talents. Talents your calling has forced you to keep hidden. And since none of my men wish to be disappointed by an inexperienced lover, we’ll be using stand-ins for your partners during this next stage of the competition.” He motioned to the statues of prominent elven men and women. “Imagine them as flesh and blood. And then make that flesh tingle and that blood rush. Don’t be shy, ladies.”

Since she’d been a small child, Gwynnestri Olowynn had been plagued with a recurring nightmare. The fear it instilled in her had been so pervasive that it had driven her to the temple, to a life largely consisting of solitude and prayer. And even then, the nightmares had never stopped. When Nimor and his group of assassins had barged into the temple, she’d needed a few moments to realize she wasn’t dreaming this hellish encounter, too. When the reality of the drow invasion finally sank in, something deep in her mind broke. The nightmares were always the same; drow monsters coming for her, killing her painfully. Much like how Nimor had killed Minuvae only minutes earlier. The fear of suffering the fate she’d dreamed a thousand times only strengthened the fractures running through her psyche. When Nimor gave his next order, she was eager to carry it out, eager to prove she could do whatever was required of her, if only to avoid the agony her mind had conjured for her every night for as long as she could remember.

Gwynnestri charged towards the nearest statue, one of an elven maiden who – legend told – had single-handedly turned the tide of a pivotal battle during the first war with the drows. She leapt up, latching her hands onto the statue’s shoulders while hooking her legs around curvaceous marble hips. Grinding her naked cunt against the cool stone, she kissed and licked at the long-dead heroine’s smooth lips, moaning against them before lowering her head to lap at her firm breasts, perfectly sculpted and nearly fully exposed thanks to the revealing attire she’d been known to wear.

The rest of the priestesses moved to statues of their own, none of them wishing to venture to the one covered in Minuvae’s guts. Their enthusiasm ranged from over-eager – in Gwynnestri’s case – to remarkably reluctant. On the latter end of the spectrum was Glynni Kelbalar. She refrained from the crude behavior her fellow priestesses were engaging in, settling on simply dancing and lightly grinding against the statue she’d chosen. Her lackluster performance earned Nimor’s attention. “You’ll have to do better than that, girl,” he warned. “Why don’t you show us how you’d suck his cock if he were still among the living?”

Gylnni made an attempt to obey, but her reverence for the man whose statue she’d chosen was too great to overcome. “I can’t,” she finally admitted. “These icons deserve our respect and admiration. To sully ourselves on them is a crime too great for me to bear.”

Nimor sighed. “You elves and your pride.” He rolled his eyes. “You know, it’s really going to get all of you killed one of these days. In your case, this is the day.” He waved a pair of his assassins to the woman. “If she thinks so much of this slab of pretty marble, she shouldn’t mind dying on it. Let her go out fucking that lance he’s holding.”

Gylnni made a dash for the temple’s entrance, but the assassins cut her off and tugged her back to the statue she’d refused to play with. The priestess flailed and screamed, the drow laughing at her as they wrestled her resistant form along, taking every opportunity to grope her jiggling tit-flesh and smack her firm ass. They hefted her up onto their shoulders, turning her so her kicking legs faced the statue. Prying her thighs apart, they lined her crotch up with the sharp tip of the lance, inching her closer so the metal could prod at the folds of her pussy. Gylnni’s panic rose, struggling to push away from the drow holding her, but the strength of their grip was too much for her. With a hard shove, they forced the head of the lance into her sex. The priestess’s head shot up, howling out as the inner walls of her cunt were sliced into bloody ribbons.

The rest of the priestesses intensified their simulated sex acts on their respective statues as they tried their best to not listen to Gylnni’s shrieks as the drow forced more of the lance through her. Strapped to the statue of Corona with a third cock just entering her cum-greased snatch, Ahrendue wept openly as she watched another of her priestesses murdered before her while the others eagerly defiled the holy relics lining the walls of the temple. She turned her head to the side, closing her eyes tightly, so that she didn’t have to watch as the bloody tip of statue’s lance pushed free from Gylnni’s mouth. But even without seeing it, she couldn’t help hearing the pained gags and eventual death rattle that crept out of the young woman.

“That’s enough of that,” Nimor called after Gylnni was dead, left dangling on the lance impaling her from cunt to mouth. “I think we’ve seen just which of you is worthy of moving on to the next round.” He collected a bag from one of his fellow assassins and dropped it on the floor. Crouching over it, he opened the bag and retrieved several hammers, tossing them towards the priestesses. “Now that you’re finished fucking those dusty old slabs, why don’t you smash them to pieces?”

The priestesses stared at the hammers, seemingly pushed to the limits of what they were willing to do to survive. Gwynnestri was the first to scoop up one of the tools. She turned it around in her hands, looking it over, before guiding the handle down between her legs. Gripping the hammer’s head, she shoved the polished wood of the handle into her cunt, whimpering as she stared at Nimor, hoping her behavior was adequate. When she saw it wasn’t, she dragged the hammer free of her dripping snatch and looked back to the statue of the heroine she’d been molesting. Her fingers closed around the handle, tightening. With a scream of release, she charged back to the statue, hefting the hammer high and bringing it down against the statue’s firm breasts, knocking a chunk of marble free and leaving the rest of the finely crafted bosom fractured. She kept on screaming like a lunatic, slamming the hammer into the statue again and again.

Inspired by Gwynnestri’s psychotic behavior, the other priestesses gathered up the hammers. They didn’t attack the statues with nearly as much zeal as the mind-broken woman did, but they performed the task with as much efficiency as their weak muscles could muster. Nimor chuckled, watching the women work. He’d brought the hammers to destroy whatever holy relics the temple held, to demoralize the priestesses and any elves who happened upon the site afterwards. But making the women commit the destruction themselves had been far too amusing a notion to ignore. When Gwynnestri finished beating her statue down into chunks of rubble, she didn’t hesitate to rush to the one holding Glynni’s corpse. The swings of her hammer were wild, smashing marble and flesh alike. Her wild-eyed frenzy showed no signs of stopping as she smashed the dead elf’s skull open, desperate to do whatever she could to win her life.

Nimor waited until the women had finished their task. When every statue but the one of Corona was reduced to rubble, he had them return their hammers to the bag. “Well, it’s nice to see that you’re all starting to learn how this contest works. Maybe there’s no more losers to be found. But we’re far from finished.” He reached down, loosening his belt and unfastening his pants. His cock was stiff and ready as he pulled it free. Taking his lead, the drow who weren’t waiting to have their fun with Ahrendue did the same. “I think you’ve earned the right to touch us. Don’t worry. We won’t be defiling those holy cunts of yours just yet. Only your mouths. And we’ll not even do you the disservice of making you swallow our cum. We’ll be using that for the next round.”

The six naked priestesses were lined up again, forced onto their knees. Nimor stepped in front of the youngest one – Axilya Trahana. She was barely an adult, terrified of the drow but still reluctant to go through with the defilement of herself and the temple. She was young enough, her mind still open to being molded, that he’d already decided she would make an excellent slave. Unless she acted out just a little too much, her life was safe. Not that he had any intention of letting Axilya in on that piece of knowledge. He rubbed the tip of his cock against her soft lips, letting her taste the pre-cum leaking out of him, before he cradled the back of her head and guided her mouth over his cock. He didn’t make it that far in before she started to gag. The teeth he felt against the shaft of his member stung only a little bit, an unintentional reaction instead of a genuine bite. He drew back a little, letting her become accustomed to having a dick in her mouth.

Gwynnestri took the cock presented to her with enthusiasm. She lapped her tongue across the tip, smearing it with her drool, before wrapping her lips around the head, sucking hard. She brought a hand up, cradling the drow assassin’s balls and giving them a gentle squeeze. She pulled her head back, letting the erection pop free from her slurping lips. She flashed the man a psychotically slutty grin before diving back towards his crotch, choking her way fully down his firm length. She fucked her face on his cock with rapid movements, gagging and sucking as she went.

Nimor directed one of the drow men not being tended to by the priestesses to collect the sacred sun discs around the temple. The ornately designed discs were brought over and laid out on the floor, close enough to the blowjob orgy that the men could turn and fire their spunk over them in only a moment. The sun discs were kept pristine, expertly polished, to even leave a smudge on their surface was a special kind of blasphemy to the elves. To have them drenched in drow cum would be a heart-breaking blow to the priestesses spiritual beliefs. With the stage set, he went back to helping Axilya learn how to suck a man off. She was an adorable blend of inexperience, unwillingness, and terror.

Ulesse Trahana had more experience with pleasuring men orally, but her terror was two-fold. Kneeling right beside her younger sister, she slid a hand over to Axilya to take her fingers into a firm grip, reassuring her sibling in whatever small way she could. Her head bobbed in a slow, practiced rhythm, offering her drow rapist little in the way of passion. The movements may not have been as excited as Gwynnestri’s, but she was confident they would get the job done. Ulesse was committed to winning the depraved competition as long as Axilya remained alive. She could handle the burden of being a slave to the drow if it allowed her the opportunity to keep her sister breathing.

Bonaluria Cartris showed some reluctance at first, but gradually got into the act. Her mind was not fractured like Gwynnestri’s, but she had a similarly powerful desire to live, no matter what the cost. It helped that she’d had more than her fair share of secret rendezvous with lovers since becoming a priestess. Rumors regarding her promiscuous behavior ran rampant, but she’d always been careful. There was no evidence to prove she’d forsaken her vows of celibacy, so her station as a priestess had never been in danger. There was plenty of evidence now, with a drow cock wedged so deep down her throat, but it hardly mattered. None of them would be allowed to maintain their priestess roles, even if they were somehow rescued from the drow’s clutches. With the goddess Corona nowhere to be found, Bonaluria saw no reason not to do whatever she could to save herself.

The announcement that the next portion of the competition involved oral talents had filled Lusha Valthyra with relief. She’d grown quite proficient with her mouth. It was the only carnal dalliance she’d allowed herself after becoming a priestess. The way she figured, the hardest part would be to hold back enough to keep the drow male who’d stepped in front of her from popping off too quickly. She took him in with ease, despite his sizable member, and had just started her nimble tongue working along the underside of his shaft when the assassin’s hands closed around the back of her head. Lusha’s eyes bulged as the drow yanked her head forward, the thick slab of obsidian flesh sheathing snugly down her throat. The man’s thickness was enough to be a match for even her well-controlled gag reflex, but that soon became the least of Lusha’s concerns as she realized she couldn’t draw breath from around the drow’s girth.

Amisra Mirana was right beside Lusha. She noticed her choking around the drow cock, but she didn’t dare intervene. That’s what a mouth-whore like her deserves, she thought, even as she leisurely slurped at the rigid erection between her lips. The act disgusted her, but only partially due to her holy vows. Amisra had never found much appreciation for the male figure. Her stomach churned with unease as she slid her lips back and forth along the member before her. The sound of Lusha’s choking strengthened in urgency. Straining her eyes, Amisra glanced over at her fellow priestess, finding her face a bright shade of red, hands slapping wildly at her drow user’s thighs. Amisra looked up, to the face of the drow choking Lusha with his cock. She saw no sign of mercy in his eyes, only sadistic delight as he tightened his grip around the woman’s head and kept her face buried against his crotch.

Nimor noticed Lusha’s predicament, but did nothing to step in on her behalf. The priestesses had rules to obey during the competition. His fellow drow did not. All of the elf women had passed their last task. Even the reluctant ones were going through with this one. With six of them left, they still needed to cut down their number before a decision could be made on which of them would be taken as captives. An overeager libido and a desire to kill was as good a reason as any to cross one of the women out of the running. Axilya tried to pull back from his cock to look over with concern at Lusha. He let her slid back to just the tip of his dick before he placed a hand at the back of her head and gently guided her back down, reminding her that she had a task to complete.

Lusha clung to her drow user’s thighs, saliva spurting from her stretched lips as sweat dripped down her reddened face. The panic of her asphyxiation threatened to overwhelm her completely. She fought it back, struggling to employ some of her many oral techniques to get the drow off so she could catch some much needed air. But the thickness of the member plugging her throat left her with precious few options for her mouth and tongue to perform. She could only kneel there, choke and struggle, hope that the spastic convulsions of her throat would get the drow off before she expired. The passively pleased expression the drow stared down at her with told her that he was nowhere near climax. She stared up at him, tears clouding her vision as she silently pleaded with him to finish.

The urgency of Lusha’s gurgling grew louder. All of the priestesses could hear her. None of them were brave enough to try to help her, focusing on the cocks held before them and silently thankful that they weren’t being smothered themselves. Lusha’s fingernails dug into the drow’s legs, leaving behind light scratches, but not nearly doing enough damage to dissuade him from his actions. The leaden weight of fatigue and oxygen deprivation sapped away Lusha’s strength. Her hands slid away from the drow, arms slumping to her sides. Her body jerked, bulging eyes rolling back, drool-slickened tits jiggling. Even as her body began to shut down, the drow did not relent, keeping his cock pushed fully down her gullet. The spastic shudders of her choking throat finally pushed him over the edge with its random stimulation. He grunted, cumming hard into the nearly dead elf priestess. He hugged her head against his crotch, stretched lips pressing against the base of his shaft while his balls rested against her chin.

The assassin kept Lusha’s face against him even as the last his his jizz drained into her. She offered nothing more than the occasional muscular twitch, the last flickers of life slowly creeping out of her. Once those had passed, he worked his way free of her gullet and back off of her lips. Lusha’s head rolled back, mouth gaping open, eyes rolled back to show nothing but the blood-stained whites. Chuckling, the drow leaned over her, gathering up a wad of saliva and spitting it into her open mouth. He shoved her back and released his hold on her hair, letting her limp form fall to the floor. The crumpled heap of Lusha’s corpse gave off awkward twitches before a weak flow of urine trickled out of her.

Lusha’s demise seemed as good a signal for the end of the oral segment of the competition as anything else. Nimor was close enough to release, for sure. The other drow could get themselves off as needed. “Alright, well, it’s fairly obvious who the loser of this round is,” he announced, sliding his prick free from Axilya’s lips. He turned to the collection of sun discs scattered across the floor, selecting one and crouching over it as he jerked himself to the finish line. He sprayed messy streaks of cum across the disc. The other assassins followed suit, leaving all of the holy relics covered in their seed. A quick glance was all Nimor needed to confirm that the priestesses were more than a little disturbed by the defilement, with the exception of Gwynnestri who mostly just looked eager to do whatever was required of her to keep on proving she deserved to live.

“Our next game,” Nimor announced, motioning to the cum-glazed sun discs. “It’s simple. Clean the discs. With your tongues.”

Amisra’s already unsteady stomach sloshed with greater unease as Nimor’s words sank into her mind. It had taken nearly every ounce of self-control she had to take a cock into her mouth. The only thing that had saved her during that act was that it had not involved ejaculate. The male spunk disgusted her on a level far beyond the male figure. Just looking at the cum spurts layered across the sun discs had her on the verge of being sick. Watching her fellow priestesses drop onto their hands and knees and crawl over to the discs to begin licking through the creamy deposits left bile stinging the back of her throat. The only thing that got her moving, determined to get through the ordeal, was a deeply ingrained instinct for self-preservation.

By the time she reached the discs, the only one left unattended to was one of the larger ones. She whimpered, swallowed hard, and then leaned in to get started. She dragged her tongue from one end of the disc to the other, gathering up as much of the spunk as she could and gathering it into her mouth. The flavor of it soaked into her tongue for the few moments she let it rest there before swallowing it down. The slippery thickness of the goo moved down her throat and into her gut like a slug. She ignored the disgusting sensation and went back to gather more of the jizz, wanting to get through the task as quickly as possible. She was midway through her second lick when her body revolted against her. There was hardly a retch before her breakfast, bile, and the small quantity of cum she’d ingested sprayed from her lips across the defiled sun disc.

The priestesses nearest to her – Bonaluria and Axilya – jerked and scooted their discs away from the one stained by her vomit. Once they were satisfied that they wouldn’t have to lap up the woman’s bile, they returned to their perverted task. Nimor shook his head with disappointment at the young woman. “Can’t be a slave if you don’t have a strong stomach,” he informed Amisra as he reached down to grab her by the back of the neck. He yanked her up onto her feet, dragging her over to the temple’s sacred flame. The billowing plume of fire had remained blazing since the temple had been constructed, representing the never-ending flame of Corona’s blessed light overhead. Regardless of its holy purpose, the sacred flame was – in essence – just a flame, capable of all of the things any other fire was capable of. Nimor brought Amisra to her knees before the flame, forcing her to assume the pose she’d willingly taken each time she’d prayed to Corona. She prayed this time as well, whimpering out a plea to her goddess to find a way to spare her from her fate. The priestess received her answer a moment later as Nimor shoved her face into the flickering flame.

Amisra screamed as the scorching heat hit her, fire drying her lips and chasing the oxygen into her mouth and down her throat. Her skin blistered and peeled, hair igniting and burning away into glowing embers that left her scalp blackened. Her bulging eyes went blind as the flames fried her corneas, shriveling the orbs in their sockets as the fluid within them was brought to a boiling temperature within moments. The saliva in her mouth dried up and then grew damp again as the blisters coating her flopping tongue swelled and burst. Her legs kicked out behind her, hands gripping the sides of the sacred flame’s pedestal as she tried to pull back. Her beautiful features vanished as her flesh melted away, scorched lips sloshing away as smoke billowed in her gaping mouth. By the time Nimor yanked her head free from the flame, Amisra’s features had largely been burnt away, leaving behind a deformed mass of half-melted, roasted meat. He let her body drop to the floor beneath the sacred flame where she lingered between life and death, consumed by agony until the shock of her horrendous wounds finally got the better of her.

Amisra’s execution was an excellent motivator. The rest of the preistesses had their discs cleaned by the time the woman expired, nervously awaiting their next task. Nimor turned back to them with an eerie nonchalance, not even acknowledging the brutal act he’d just committed. “Such hungry whores,” he remarked as he investigated the sun discs. “Now that you’ve cleaned them, why don’t you show me how little you think of these worthless trinkets you used to cherish so dearly? A priestess would never have done what you’ve done thus far. But if you want me to believe you’ve truly given up your silly beliefs in this whore goddess you’ve chosen to worship, you should have no trouble squatting over these discs and relieving yourself. Piss all over them to show Corona just how little you think of her now that she’s forsaken you.”

The four remaining priestesses looked as exhausted and broken as they felt. None of them – not even the young, innocent Axilya – even muttered a word of protest or disgust as they moved around the sun discs, crouching over the holy relics as they reached between their spread legs to peel apart the lips of their cunts. One by one, they released sprays of piss, some stronger than others. The urine flowed across the tops of the sun discs, washing away the few smears of cum that had been missed during the tongue baths they’d given the items. The warm fluid spilled over the discs and spread across the floor, joining to create a single pool that flowed around their bare feet. The challenge didn’t take long to complete, and Nimor could see no reason to disqualify any of the priestesses, so he moved things right along to the next wicked idea he had for the women.

Nimor turned his attention to Ahrendue. The high priestess had been through quite the ordeal while he’d been testing the holy women who’d served her. Koszar had taken it upon himself to make the woman’s life a tortured hell. Raped enough times that her cunt was left swollen and leaking thick globs of spunk, she looked thoroughly broken. The drow mage had turned his attentions to inflicting pain upon her. His dark magics had already peeled the skin away from her arms, from her shoulders down to her wrists, as well as her legs, from the tops of her thighs down to her knees. Now he was using the dark forces at his command to wiggle her teeth out, one by one, leaving behind bloody sockets that drained crimson down her chin and across her perky breasts. The beauty she possessed was long gone, as was whatever purity she might have possessed when the drow invaded the temple.

The glistening raw redness of Ahrendue’s exposed muscle tissue contrasted vividly against her alabaster white skin. Her body shivered within its bindings, overwhelmed with agony, the chill of shock, and the unwanted pleasure forced through her courtesy of Koszar’s wicked magics. But out of all the physical atrocities committed upon her flesh, it was the sight of what her priestesses were becoming that dealt the strongest blow to Ahrendue’s spirit. She looked upon the group of mostly broken women, obeying the drow’s orders with little hesitation, and realized she could hardly recognize them as the preistesses she’d had so much love and respect for. Even those among her flock who’d been weak against the lures of pleasure, she’d found a way to forgive and accept them, largely because she’d failed to live up to her own vows on more than one occasion. But to see them falling to such a low, colluding with their enemy to such an extent, simply to prolong their lives, shamed her.

“Your high priestess may not be the beauty she once was, but she still deserves love, don’t you think?” Nimor remarked to the remaining priestesses. “Why don’t you show her how much you love her? Eat her messy snatch. If you can get her off, all the better, but even if you can’t, don’t worry. You won’t be punished. Much.” As the women got to their feet, he guided them into a single-file line. He let Gwynnestri go first. She certainly was the most eager. Bonaluria stood behind her, followed by Ulesse, and finally Axilya. Nimor was unsure how the youngest priestess would handle the task and he wanted to set her up to easily pass, even if her effort was lacking. He had no need to conceal the fact that he was rigging the game in her favor, but it made the competition more entertaining.

Gwynnestri grabbed hold of Ahrendue’s skinless thighs without any concern for the pain it caused the woman. She leaned closer to the high priestess’s crotch, breathing in the pungent aroma of her musk, drow cum, sweat, and blood. Gwynnestri mashed her lips against Ahrendue’s gooey cunt, driving her tongue deep into the older elf’s folds. She lapped up the jizz leaking out of her, clearing a path to her swollen labial folds and rigid clitoris. Her movements were frantic but attentive, delivering as much pleasure into the bound high priestess as she could over as short a period of time. Koszar leant some assistance, pumping some more electricity into Ahrendue’s body, using it to massage and tease her most sensitive regions. Gwynnestri purred as she felt the crackle of the power across her damp tongue, shoving her face harder against Ahrendue’s quivering body and wiggling her nose against the stiff bud of the woman’s clit until she was rewarded with a flow of cunt honey into her eager mouth.

Ahrendue’s head swam as Gwynnestri stepped away from her. The pain and pleasure coursing through her had her on the verge of collapse. She blinked slowly, eyelids too heavy to keep open for long as Bonaluria moved up to take her turn. The high priestess shook her head, wincing and groaning as the woman’s lips pressed against her sex. She desperately wanted to call out, beg the priestesses to deny the drow monsters, to face their deaths with some form of dignity. But her throat didn’t want to work, her mind so clouded with suffering that she had little desire to fight the pleasant rush that the tongue exploring her pussy brought forth, no matter how hypocritical it was. Her head slumped forward, falling into pathetic sobs as Bonaluria made way for Ulesse to have a go at her. There was nothing to be done. She’d failed her duties as a high priestess, failed her goddess, and – most importantly – had failed her priestesses. Now all she was good for was suffering, and being used.

Nimor was impressed when Axilya’s turn came. The young woman did not hesitate as she moved in front of Ahrendue. Her oral exploration of the high priestess’s snatch was not nearly as thorough or spirited as the women who’d gone before her, but it showed promise. She seemed to have little in the way of a rebellious spirit, merely the uncertainty that came with youth and inexperience. In time, she would become a glorious whore servant. Nimor gave some serious thought to taking her for himself, but there was still too much left for him to attend to. Both within the temple, as well as in the invasion of the elven kingdom. Perhaps once the invasion was finished, if she’d not gotten completely used up or killed off by then, he’d track her down and claim her. But for now, he needed to finish the little competition he’d put into motion.

“You’ve all impressed me,” Nimor told them. “So willing, even eager, to commit blasphemous acts upon these grounds you consider so holy. I think you’ll all make excellent slaves.” A smile crept across his face. “There’s just one last, little task I’d like you to perform for me. Now that you’ve all had a taste of your high priestess, why don’t you have a taste of each other?” He pointed to Gwynnestri and Bonaluria. “You two.” And then Axilya and Ulesse. “And you two. Make it steamy. I want to feel the love.”

Gwynnestri practically tackled Bonaluria to the floor, planting feverish kisses across her lips and throat as her hands explored her fellow priestess’s body. Bonaluria went along with it, reciprocating with less passion but still doing enough to show that she was willing to follow orders. Axilya glanced nervously at her sister, seemingly open to the experience. Ulesse very much was not. Her brow furrowed, glancing from the pair of elves fingering and kissing each other on the floor, to her sister, to Nimor. “You… you don’t understand,” she whimpered, on the verge of panic. “I can’t. Not with her. She’s my sister.”

Nimor chuckled. “Well, now that you’ve told me that, I’m afraid I must insist you fuck her. It adds a delightful spice to the whole scenario.”

Ulesse blinked the tears from her eyes, trembling with terror. “You can’t do this! I’ll do anything else for you, but not this! Not my sister!”

Nimor’s smile faded, face growing stern. “Looks like we have one more loser in the bunch after all.”

Ulesse flinched as he moved towards her, almost ran, but instead fixed her sad, terrified gaze on Axilya. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered, shrieking as Nimor laid his strong hands upon her. She struggled out of panic more than with any true intent to escape him, knowing such a thing was unlikely. He dragged her back towards the entrance of the temple where a small fountain bubbled its blessed water endlessly. Bending Ulesse over the rim, he plunged her face into the bowl, locking his arm muscles to keep her flailing form in place. Her plump buttocks bounced against his crotch, unintentionally rubbing against his erection. As he waited for the air trapped in her lungs to grow stale, he decided to relieve a bit of the tension he felt. He adjusted himself and pushed into Ulesse from behind, the tight fleshy walls of her cunt going wild around him. Her hands pressed against the rim of the fountain, flexing her weak muscles to push her face out of the water. When that failed, she went to swinging her limbs about, splashing through the holy water and stretching back to smack Nimor across his arms.

Nimor matched her spastic gyrations as he fucked her, giving her the added mental torment of feeling as if she were willingly grinding into him as he murdered her. He saw the first expulsion of air from her lips as a flurry of bubbles burst across the sloshing surface of the water around the sides of her face. He rammed into her harder, her convulsions massaging every inch of his prick. Keeping her head held firmly, he worked his free arm around her, reaching up to grab at her rippling tit-flesh. Another burst of bubbles escaped her as his fingers latched onto her nipple and gave it a cruel twist. Ulesse’s struggles intensified before loosing all sense of rhythm, transforming into out of control flailing as she began to suck the holy water into her oxygen-starved lungs. He slowed the pumping of his hips as the priestess’s movements grew sluggish, fading away as she finished drowning. When she was nothing but an inert slab draped over the fountain, he gave her a few more hard thrusts before letting his cum fire off into her dead snatch.

Releasing his hold on Ulesse and drawing free from her, Nimor stepped away from the dead priestess. She remained perched over the fountain for a few moments until her legs gave out, dragging her lifeless husk to the ground. Her legs bent under her, dropping her into a squat before her back arched, head rolling back as she fell backwards. Her face – frozen in horror – stared towards the ceiling, holy water draining from her gaping mouth. Axilya stared at her sister’s body, chest heaving as she edged close to a full-blown panic attack. She glanced nervously from the body to Nimor to Bonaluria and Gwynnestri, unsure of what to do now that her partner for the competition was dead.

Nimor looked over the trio of remaining priestesses. A mind-broken whore, a still-sane but willing whore, and a virgin primed to become a whore. They each possessed their own uniqueness and he doubted they’d cause much trouble being transported back behind the drow lines of attack. “I think we have our winners,” he announced. “You’ve all proven yourselves to be of the quality and mentality we’re looking to recruit. If you continue to behave properly, you can look forward to long lives of being abused and made to serve your drow masters. It may not sound very glamorous, but…” He motioned to the various bodies of dead priestesses littering the temple. “It’s certainly better than the alternative.”

With the competition over, Nimor allowed his assassins to enjoy the spoils. He was quick to claim Axilya for himself, pulling her off to the side as the others forced themselves on Bonaluria and Gwynnestri. Even the dead priestesses were not spared from the celebratory post-competition orgy. Ahrendue was left suspended from the statue of Corona, forced to watch as the women she’d led in prayer for so long were defiled in a variety of perverse ways. Gwynnestri continued to prove her talents, sandwiched between two drow assassins with a cock buried in each of her lower holes. She bobbed her head along the length of a third cock, while stroking off two more with her hands. Bonaluria was forced onto her hands and knees, one drow taking her cunt roughly from behind while the other fucked her face. The drow who’d smothered Lusha to death with his erection went back for more, sliding into her gooey gullet to resume his forceful thrusts. Ulesse had her long legs pulled into the air, body resting on her shoulders as a pair of drow angled their dicks into her from above.

“You’ve not had any sexual experience before today, have you?” Nimor asked Axilya. He saw a spark of nervousness in her eyes, but the way her cheeks blushed in response to the question gave him all the information he needed before she sheepishly shook her head. He grinned. “A true virgin priestess. You’ll sell for quite the fortune. Don’t worry, none of these men will claim your purity. And neither will I. Not this day.” He tightened his grip on her shoulders. “Of course, that doesn’t mean you’re exempt from this celebration.”

Twisting Axilya away from him, Nimor bent her over. As his hands moved over her smooth, flawless flesh, his cock returned to a fully erect state. He spat into his palm, lathering his shaft with saliva before prying the young elf’s small buttocks apart. His fingers slid through the crack of her ass, fingering more spit into her virgin ass. Even his fingers had a tough time getting into the orifice, but the vice-like grip only encouraged him. When both hole and rod were thoroughly slickened, he guided the head of his prick to her rear and began to work his way into her. It took a good deal of effort and although Axilya did not do anything to resist him, she couldn’t help the pained whines from pouring out of her. It took Nimor several long minutes before he managed to squeeze the full length of his member into the virgin priestess’s ass. Taking hold of her scrawny shoulders, he gave her a rough anal pounding, treating her no differently than he’d have treated any other whore. Her purity made her only so special, and Nimor knew that no buyer would care if the girl’s anal virginity remained intact.

By the time the orgy came to an end, none of the priestesses – living or dead – had been spared from repeated violation. Nimor was impressed by what a talented cocksucker Axilya had become after such a short period of time. But as nice as it had felt to be the first man to ever blast a load up her beautifully tight ass and as stunning as she looked with his seed painted across her cute, youthful face, there were other matters to attend to. Specifically, the execution of Ahrendue Ralozana. The high priestess had suffered gloriously, witnessed the fall of her temple, the defilement of her priestesses. But the time had come to be done with her. And Koszar had a brilliantly sadistic and hilariously ironic means of carrying out the woman’s death.

Set into the wall above the entrance to the temple was a large, stained glass window depicting the goddess Corona. The temple had been constructed so that the morning sun shone through the stained glass, sending tinted beams of light into the place of worship. The mage wielded his magic, augmenting the glass to catch the light and focus it into stronger beams that cut across the temple and hit Ahrendue’s bared flesh. The high priestess squirmed as fresh discomfort radiated across her, the beams of light heating her skin. The squirming became wild thrashing as the heat intensified, burning into her. She shrieked through her bloody, toothless gums, eyes bulging as her bodily fluids were brought to a boiling temperature, cooking her from within. Smoke rose up the back of her throat, leaked from her nostrils and ears. The skin that remained attached to her body grew tight, blackening and cracking as she was roasted into a thoroughly well-done slab of meat. Her screams faded into a whistle as the superheated oxygen left in her roasted lungs left her. Her charred body locked into a rictus of tightened tendons and heat-shrunk skin as her smoky eyes stared up at the stained-glass visage of her goddess, silently begging for an answer to why she’d been made to suffer so terribly despite her loyal servitude.

Corona did not make an appearance within her defiled temple, but Nimor and the other drow fell into a hushed silence as their god, Vhaerun, casually strolled through the temple entrance. Vhaerun paid them no attention as they dropped to one knee, supplicating themselves before the god. He hardly even glanced at the broken priestesses, or even the smoking body of Ahrendue. His eyes remained fixed on the statue of Corona, his size growing with each step he took towards the idol. He pulled his cock free as he moved, stroking it to firmness by the time he reached the statue, tall enough to take easy aim at Corona’s marble face. He masturbated before the temple’s centerpiece, taking all the time he liked. When he finally came, his jizz erupted from his throbbing shaft in heavy spurts, soaking the statue’s face and pouring down its immaculately sculpted bust, sizzling as it flowed across Ahrendue’s still hot corpse. As he finished draining his balls, he tucked himself away and turned from the defiled statue, exiting without a word to his followers as he shrank back to a more average size.

The god didn’t need to say a word. His appearance alone had been enough to cement the drow’s resolve and destroy the will of the three priestesses left alive in the temple. Once Vhaerun was gone, Nimor knew their work was finished within the temple. He drew his dagger and climbed the spunk-soaked statue, carving away Ahrendue’s roasted head. It would make an excellent addition to Irae’s collection of resurrected trophies.


	6. The Sack

This is an especially brutal story, filled with torture, rape, and snuff. Be sure this is a thing you want to read before continuing. 

In the pre-dawn darkness, the army advancing on Soleila could not be easily identified. Tehlarissa Zylgwyn made the natural assumption that it was their own forces finally returning from the revenge mission they’d set out on. They were a little overdue, but not so much so that their absence had raised any alarm. Tehlraissa felt a wave of relief wash over her. Her best friend Aleratha and her lover Nakiasha were among the counter-raiding party and she would be glad to see them both again… her bed had been especially lonely since her archer friend had left. Hopefully the victory would bring some joy to Nakiasha… the elf had been insisting that she wasn’t beautiful enough for Tehlraissa again, the sweet idiot. She stepped up onto the wall, lifting herself well out of the defensive cover, making herself as visible as possible as she waved happily at the approaching soldiers, calling out to them to welcome their return.

Trelgath Vrammyr spotted the eager elf waving and yelling at them. She wasn’t raising the alarm. Quite the opposite. Which meant she thought they were the dead and enslaved elves who’d foolishly blundered into the trap. When the order came to silence the excited elf on the wall, he quickly notched an arrow into his bow alongside two of his fellow archers. In the dusky shadows, Tehlarissa couldn’t make them out clearly enough to see the arrows aimed in her direction. The soft twang of three bowstrings being released wasn’t loud enough to reach her pointed ears. By the time she caught the briefest glimpse of the trio of arrows racing towards her, it was far too late for her to do anything to save herself.

The three arrows struck Tehlarissa within moments of each other; two punching through the soft flesh of her right breast and the third – fired by Trelgath – nailing her dead center. A shocked gasp passed her lips, her balance lost as she toppled backwards from her perch, landing hard on her back. Not our army, her mind screamed at her. Her lips – sticky with blood – trembled, trying to gather the strength to call out to the other soldiers on the wall, to warn them of the danger, but with one lung crippled and her heart straining to go on beating with an arrow impaling it, she couldn’t do much more than suffer as she lay there.

With the exuberant elf taken care of, the drow army converged on her now undefended section of wall. Ladders were propped against the wall, some of the more limber creatures using grappling hooks for a much quicker ascent. The first line of attackers scaled the defensive perimeter of the city in silence, each of them eager to spill elven blood and violate elven flesh. Trelgath stepped over the wall and fixed his eyes on Tehlarissa, still sputtering and clinging to life. He recognized the markings on the arrow lodged in her heart as his own. It seemed as good a reason as any to claim her in her final moments. Dropping down over her, he worked her pants down and pushed his erection into her pliant cunt, finding her inner workings to be pleasantly cool from the blood she was hemorrhaging into her chest cavity. He humped into her, savoring her pain and terror. It was an irony that he had been the one responsible for enslaving her lover and snuffing her friend, but if he had known, he would have only cared so far as to tell her that before the lights went out behind the girl-lovers eyes. 

The pack of goblin flesh maestros could be just as efficient in combat as they were in breaking minds. Lyeecia Morrel found out just how devious the little men could be. The section of wall she guarded was nearest to Tehlarissa. She’d heard the woman calling out, but had ignored her, assuming it meant the bulk of the elven army had finally returned. About damn time, she’d thought. With troops spread so thin, she’d had to spend far too many nights bored on top of the wall, fighting off the cold and trying to stay awake. She didn’t hear the goblins scampering up from behind her. The sudden grip of their claw-like hands on her drew a startled shriek from her lips. She turned towards the unexpected attackers, hand moving to draw her sword.

Two of the goblins – Sliggeg and Teetmorx – pulled themselves up onto the woman’s shoulders, perching there like a couple of horny gargoyles. They each gripped the sides of Lyeecia’s head, holding it firmly between them as they mashed the tips of their erections into the curves of her pointed ears. Lyeecia cried out as she half-drew her sword, only to have a chunk of meat and bone torn from her wrist between vicious goblin teeth. She made an attempt to reach up and tug away the filthy creatures straining to fuck their way into her ears, but both of her hands were snagged and held at her sides. The pressure built on either side of Lyeecia’s head. She managed to start a scream just as Sliggeg and Teetmorx rammed their way through her ear canals and into her brain. The scream faded fast into a dazed groan, her eyes bulging and crossing. Awkward tremors crept through her body as the goblins energetically humped into her bleeding ears, tunneling holes through her soft brain. Lyeecia’s brain-damaged body slumped onto her knees, pissing herself as she released a series of awkward grunts and moans, blood draining from her nostrils. Sliggeg and Teetmorx went tense, ramming their full lengths into the nearly dead elf’s skull and basting her brain with their creamy loads before springing away from her shoulders. Her cross-eyed, slack face dropped forward, faceplanting hard against the top of the wall.

The rest of the wall guard was taken out with the same degree of quick, cruel efficiency. Their forces were so spread out that Merlara Ravaxalim – currently in charge of guarding the wall’s main gate – had no idea anything was wrong, let alone that she was the last wall guard left alive. She was caught as unaware as all the others, snagged and promptly flung over the side of the wall. Her scream was short lived, ending in a crunching thud as her body hit the ground outside the city, spine shattered, the back of her head caved in. Her twitching corpse was dragged back into the ranks of the drow army, clothing and armor stripped away as she went. As the front line prepared to launch a proper assault on the unsuspecting city, a few of the officers got done to having a bit of fun with one of the first victims of the attack, forcing their way into Merlara’s cooling orifices.

* * *

The gate opened and the drow army surged into Soleila. The attack drew enough attention to finally sound the alarm. What little remained of the elven military forces surged towards the enemy forces, lacking any kind of structure or command. Their general was gone, her higher ranking underlings still in the city all dead in their beds. The soldiers were slaughtered like meat through a grinder as they threw themselves at the throng of enemy combatants. It wasn’t long before only five of them remained – all women. They’d gathered into a tight group, desperate to prolong their own lives instead of flinging themselves uselessly into death to defend the city.

Working together, they were able to hold back the drow forces with reasonable skill, but against the Butcher, they were nothing more than helpless sows waiting to be butchered. They did their best to retreat, maintain their attacks as they backpedaled to someplace safe. But the beast of an orc was eager to hack them apart, the pack of drow soldiers following in his wake eager to have fun with the scraps he left behind. And no place in Soleila was safe any longer.

Kethryllia Ravaroris faced the Butcher’s terrible bloodthirst first. The sheer bulk of the orc froze her in her place, terror gripping her so firmly that she could do nothing but piss herself from the fear. The yells of her fellow soldiers – begging her to get back – were dull in her ears. A whimper trembled on her lips as the Butcher cocked his beefy arm back. He swung, catching Kethryllia against the side of her face with the bottom of his cleaver’s handle. The force of the strike dislocated her jaw and ripped it free from her face as her body spun away. Her fellow soldiers got to witness her jaw tearing free, leaving her tongue to flop about in the geyser of blood pouring from the torn flesh left behind. Her eyes rolled up as her momentum carried her through a full rotation before she dropped to the ground, landing hard on her breasts.

The Butcher stomped onward, reaching Lenna Qilar next. She made a pitiful attempt to stab her sword into the orc’s belly, only to have her blade knocked from her grip with a light swipe of the man’s cleaver. He brought the butchering tool up into the air and chopped downwards. The tested blade connected with the top of Lenna’s head and cracked through her skull with ease. The Butcher flexed his arm, enlisting the necessary amount of force to follow through with his downward stroke. The cleaver split the elf’s pretty face in half, carved a gory line down the center of her throat and through her cleavage. Her belly split open, spilling severed lengths of guts out of her as the Butcher concluded his fatal chop by forcing the cleaver through her pelvic bone, carving through the cleft of her buttocks and the folds of her cunt. Lenna’s stiff legs remained at awkward attention before gravity pulled her separated halves apart, toppling them both to the ground.

Sarya Miragolor had been standing just beside Lenna. She had her sword poised to strike the Butcher, but her fingers had grown numb and stiff at the sight of her companion’s bloody bisection. She soon became just another slab of meat left in the Butcher’s wake. Yanking his cleaver up, he swung sideways at the elf, catching her just above her hips. He hacked his way through her with ease, separating her upper half from her lower half. Her torso slid backwards, sword fumbling from her grip as she frantically reached down to cling to the tops of her legs. Her fingers slipped in the hot blood gushing out of her and her upper half dropped away. She was treated to the sight of her flexing ass before her as her legs made a few jagged steps away before giving out.

The Butcher let out a growl of annoyance as he lifted his cleaver to see that the blade was bent and cracked from overuse. He slung the weapon onto his belt and reached for another in his collection of cruel instruments. The remaining two elf soldiers had seen the damage to his primary weapon and had taken it the momentary shift in his attention to launch a final, desperate attack on the behemoth. Closing his hand around the rusted meat hook, the Butcher was more than ready for the pair. He smacked Finnea Ravadithas’s sword aside and grabbed her by the shoulder, twisting her away from him. Dropping the meat hook low, he brought it up fast and hard, slamming the bent length of pointed steel into her back, hooking under her shoulder blade. Finnea howled as the hook entered her, arms straining to reach back and pull it free. Gathering the length of chain attached to the hook, the Butcher flung it up and over a nearby wooden crossbeam stretching over the street. With a few hard tugs, he hefted Finnea’s flailing form into the air and left her dangling there.

Only Mariona Virmenor remained and she desperately wished that were not the case. Her terrified eyes flicked from the Butcher to Finnea’s dangling body, sword shaking in her hands. The Butcher advanced on the trembling soldier, drawing a knife that was comically small in his hands. The blade was typically used to skin prey, but it worked just as well at disemboweling it. He slashed lengthwise across Mariona’s belly and then upwards, creating a bloody cross in her skin. The first bulge of intestines started to push through the opening, but the Butcher’s clenched fist punched the organs back into place. Mariona gasped as the Butcher’s huge hand invaded her belly, his fist opening as his fingers dug deeper into her, searching for something in particular. He gave the elf a wide grin as he found it. With a bit of effort, he forced his thick fingers through her back skin and then closed them, gripping the base of her spine firmly. His free hand slapped down on top of Mariona’s shoulder, holding her body in place as he yanked the hand buried inside her back the way it had come. The final soldier’s face filled with shocked agony for the precious few moments her head remained seated at the top of her neck. With a gruesome tearing, Mariona’s head was ripped down into the base of her neck, disappearing into her chest cavity before emerging, soaked in blood and gore, from the hole in her gut. The Butcher hefted his prize into the air, gripping the mangled length of the woman’s spine with the heavy weight of her head dangling below.

Kethryllia would have been tasting the dirty roadway if not for all the blood coating her flopping tongue as it dragged across the bricks. She gurgled through the thick fluid as it poured from the ragged meat of her torn cheeks, blinking tears from her eyes as the pack of soldiers following after the Butcher had their fun with her. They’d stripped away her pants and were taking turns hammering their way up her ass while she bled out before them. Her mind fogged, the shock of her brutal jaw removal taking its toll on her. Her eyes rolled back and her head sank forward, giving off a few more weak shudders before passing into death, the sound of her fleshy buttocks being thrust against the last thing she heard.

The two halves of Lenna’s body made for an interesting problem for the horny soldiers who gathered around her. Her limp hands could be wrapped around a pair of members. Two more could drag across the soft soles of her feet. But her most appealing holes had been rendered nonexistent by the Butcher’s cleaving blow. The soldiers got creative, pushing their aching members into the split hemispheres of her brain, fucking against the underside of each plump tit, stringing out her intestines to slide into the severed flesh-hoses and jerk themselves off. But had first seemed like a corpse with limited uses became a myriad of uniquely pleasant experiences for the men gathered around Lenna.

The state of Sarya’s body was far simpler to deal with and, like Kethryllia, she was still clinging to life when they reached her. Her lower half was stripped, pulled up and held between a pair of the soldiers. They rammed their way into her cunt and ass while stretching and stroking her limp legs. A third soldier tore away the light armor covering Sarya’s chest and dropped on top of her. He mashed her perky tits together along the sides of his erection and started humping, savoring the look of terrified pain in the woman’s eyes as she watched his cock rise and fall through her cleavage. The sight of her face growing pale, the life slipping away from her, encouraged him to fuck her tits faster. He let out a triumphant grunt as he came before she went, treating her to a significant facial before her head dropped back to the road and she finally died.

Finnea was the liveliest of all of the Butcher’s victims, suffering endlessly but in very little danger of expiring any time soon. Her kicking legs could only dissuade the soldiers so much as they got her boots and pants off. She was at a convenient height for their lusts, a queue forming around her struggling form as they took turns fucking their way into her lower holes. Finnea would remain hanging there, an alluring point of interest as the drow army continued their invasion of the city. It would take days before she finally expired. Her inert, cum-packed corpse would remain dangling, providing relief for anyone who could handle the stench wafting off of her rotting meat. But before that time came, many other elves suffered and died during the invasion of Soleila.

* * *

With no military forces to defend them, the civilians living in Soleila were easy pickings for the drow army. Every man was slaughtered on sight, no matter his age. The women suffered a far wider range of tortures, from reasonably quick deaths, to extended demises, to enslavement. The one thing no elf in the city saw a glimpse of was even an ounce of mercy.

Edea Valnala, one of the city’s apothecaries, was caught in her shop by a rowdy trio of drow soldiers. She’d been working in the back of her shop when she heard the commotion from outside. As she made her way to the front door, she let out a scream as the soldiers burst inside. She made a panicked attempt to flee back into her workshop, but they caught her along the way and dragged her the rest of the way. Clearing her workbench of bottles and half-finished potions, they flung Edea over the surface and hastily tore away her clothing. She screamed for help, her mind resisting the reality of the situation. Soleila was the capital city, well-defended. A drow invasion had always felt like an impossibility. Facing the consequences of that impossibility, Edea could do nothing to stop the drow from taking what they wanted from her.

Omardrin Deep wrenched Edea’s legs apart, leaning in to give her bared snatch a close examination. He twisted a finger through the wispy curls of her silky pubic hair before pushing his thumbs against her labial folds, peeling them apart to stare into the core of her sex. He took a deep, appreciative smell of her natural musk, made all the more pleasant due to the flowery-scented oils she regularly rubbed between her thighs. He pressed his lips into her cunt and jabbed his tongue against her warm, sensitive skin, giving her a thorough oral examination. Edea cringed, tears stinging her eyes as the pleasure of the drow’s slick tongue rolled up from her crotch. She let out a yelp as Kronaxle Claddervs grabbed a fistful of her dark hair and forced her head to the side, pushing the thick tip of his cock past her lips.

Dresnel Abiirn turned his attention to the shelf of various potions lining one wall of Edea’s workshop. He considered himself a bit of an apothecary enthusiast and had a reasonable knowledge of what several of the potions were and how they worked. He chuckled as he found a set of potions hidden on the bottom shelf behind a few dusty vials of health restoratives. “Look what I found, boys,” he called to the others, gathering up a few of the bottles. “The bitch has a private stash of the good stuff.”

“What’s that?” Kronaxle asked, still pumping into Edea’s mouth, giving the bottles a dubious look.

“The sorts of things that significantly alter someone’s consciousness,” the clever drow said with a grin. “A few sips of one of these and we’ll enter a new plane of existence, one created entirely by our minds.” He popped the cork from the top of one of the bottles and offered it to the mouth-fucker. “Want to try?”

Omardrin lifted his mouth from Edea’s snatch. “Just because we have free reign to do what we like to whatever elf scum we find, doesn’t mean we can chug that swill. We still have work to do.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” Kronaxle said with a grin, reaching over to take the open bottle from Dresnel. He popped his cock free from Edea’s mouth and grabbed her by the chin, forcing her to face upwards and keep her lips parted. “You look thirsty,” he chuckled, bringing the bottle of potent fluid to her mouth and tipping it into her. Edea’s eyes bulged as the hallucinogenic drink poured across her tongue and filled her mouth to the brim, forcing her to swallow to avoid suffocating or drowning in the stuff. She’d taken more than a few sample sips from the bottle over the years, enough to know that the quantity being forced into her was far too large. Tears slid from her eyes as she swallowed the spicy drug, knowing that each chug would further obliterate her mind.

The contents of the bottle were potent. One swallow was all it took for Edea to feel the effects. A warmth blossomed in her belly, radiating outwards. Her pupils dilated, pulse quickening. Her nipples stiffened into tight points, labia swelling as a flood of juices drained from her pulsing sex. Her resisting struggles became urgent writhing. The horror she felt vanished. She could no longer even see her abusers, her vision crowded with vibrant flashes of color and swirls of glowing lines that traced out a myriad of perverse imagery. The images of fireworks intensified as Omardrin’s lips returned to her cunt, each kiss, each flick of his tongue, sending her through a cascade of powerful climaxes. Her tongue swirled around the rim of the bottle still held against her lips, gathering up every drop of the lingering drug she could and moaning into the empty vessel. When the bottle slid away and was replaced by something fleshier, she kept on working her tongue, sucking to get whatever juices she could from the meat.

Dresnel’s chemical interest faded as he watched the changes wash over Edea. Leaving the rest of the bottles on a nearby desk, he made his way over to the fun, freeing his erection. He took turns sliding into her hungry mouth with Kronaxle, tilting her head back and forth between them. When Omardrin finally got his fill of the elf’s honey, he pulled his face away from her slippery crotch, licking his lips. Gripping his cock, he guided himself to her slit and eased his way in, gasping as her vaginal walls shivered and clung to his girth. A spasm shot through her body, lips closing tighter around Kronaxle’s dick, sucking hard at him as she moaned and jerked her hips up in a desperate attempt to gain more of Omardrin’s member. Hot juices sprayed from her, splattering across the drow’s belly and soaking his balls.

Plugged at both ends, Edea’s drug-soaked mind imagined herself as a stuffed balloon, filling more and more with the rising flow of ecstasy rushing into her with each pump of the cocks penetrating her. When the molten spunk of one of her oral lovers drained over her tongue, she drank it down with far more enthusiasm than she had the bottle’s potent contents. She purred around Kronaxle’s pulsing prick as Dresnel fired lines of his own sticky seed over her cheek. With her mind gone, the drow didn’t bother restraining Edea’s arms, leaving her hands free to massage her heaving tits and tug at her aching nipples. She reached up, closing her fingers around the base of Kronaxle’s cock and squeezing hard. When her lips popped away from his spent member, she jerked along his softening length, urging him to regain his stiffness. Her other hand moved blindly to find Dresnel’s, jerking him off with equal fervor. In her tumbling mind’s eye, she saw herself passing along her very essence into their bodies, fueling their lust and renewing their flesh.

Edea let out a frustrated whimper as the cock plunging away between her splayed thighs exploded within her even as she reinvigorated the two pricks in her hands. She shuddered on her work bench, each drop of cum that entered her forcing her into a fresh climax. She clenched her cunt muscles around Omardrin, doing her best to stroke him with her hot walls like she had the two men on other side of her. It worked to a point, but it was not enough to keep the pleasant rod of flesh inside her. Edea grunted and grumbled like an irritated child who wasn’t getting what she wanted, drawing her hands back to her body so she could roughly grope her chest and finger her snatch. The three soldiers watched her performance, pleased by the display and impressed with the potion’s ability to transform her so utterly into a wanton whore.

Edea gasped as their rough hands fell upon her again, rolling her onto her side and stretching her left leg up into the air. She hungrily slurped at the fresh cock presented to her lips, moaning around it as she felt the other two prodding against her lower holes. Omardrin clutched her hair as he fucked the elf’s face with rapid pumps, enjoying the way she gagged around him, layering his shaft in her spittle. Kronaxle slotted his unit easily into the stoned elf’s snatch, slick as it was with a blend of male and female cum. Dresnel gathered up some of that cum, splattered across the inside of Edea’s thigh, and used it as an effective lubricant to wedge his way into her rear. The eager side to side gyrations she made was evidence that she did not mind the anal intrusion in the slightest. She was desperate to get fucked in any way she could.

Edea’s eyes rolled back as she shoved her face into Omardrin’s crotch, stretching her lips around the base of his shaft as the head of his cock squeezed down her clenching throat. She gulped around his member, drooling over his testicles and releasing muffled groans as he gripped her hair and pinched her nipples. She stretched one arm upwards, looping around Omardrin to grip his ass, while the other moved down and behind her to stroke across Dresnel’s hip. She was a live wire filled with pure ecstasy being pumped into her. The lightest breeze across her naked flesh, the trickle of her perspiration running down her back, the trickles of precum leaking into her holes, all of it was enough to overwhelm her nerve endings. The ecstasy was a more powerful drug than anything she’d ever sampled, it overcame the fatigue of her gyrating body, pushed her to strive for more and more of it.

After finishing with their respective holes, they rolled Edea onto her belly. She humped her gooey crotch against the top of the work bench as she dragged her tongue through the pool of drool and jizz under her head. “Our little friend wants to keep this party going,” Dresnel chuckled, grabbing another bottle from the selection he’d picked out. He pulled her head up and brought the fresh bottle to her lips. This time, she drank down the contents eagerly. As the new drug entered her system, she went into a wild fit of seizures. Her humping intensified, eyes rolling back to show only the whites. She jerked her hips upwards, lifting her crotch into the air as a geyser of girl-spunk sprayed from her. As the violent mixture of drugs in her system settled down, Edea slumped over the work bench, barely conscious and thoroughly spent.

Edea’s lethargy did not dissuade the drow soldiers from continuing to have their fun with her. Dresnel took her next, climbing over her and plunging back into her ass. Edea groaned and shifted beneath her vigorous lovers, too sapped to push back to meet their thrusts despite how good they felt. With three more loads of cum clogging her bowels, the elf’s lack of response finally became irritating to the soldiers.

“I can fix this,” Dresnel assured them, returning to the assortment of bottles. “Roll her over so we can give her a nice, strong stimulant.”

Kronaxle and Omardrin rolled Edea over and sat her up as Dresnel selected another potion. He recognized it as a form of energy-giving fluid, which seemed to be exactly what their plaything needed. Uncapping it, he brought it to her lips. As the sweet taste rolled across her tongue, Edea felt a jolt run through her, pushing away the fatigue. She took the bottle from Dresnel and continued to gulp, downing the full bottle in a little under a minute. She released a soft burp followed by a low moan, dropping the empty bottle in favor of clutching at her breasts. Gooseflesh spread across her skin as her heart pounded in her chest, driven into a new kind of overdrive.

The soldiers were ready to give Edea another round of hard fucking when the three potions met in her stomach. The mixture started a violent chain reaction. The woman’s moan shifted into a strained whine as she dropped her hands down to her feverish belly. The whine rose into a high-pitched scream as her body pulled back, slamming onto the work bench before arching her spine to push her midsection into the air. She kept on screaming, drowning out the sound of stretching skin as her stomach swelled. Her arms and legs thrashed about, head rolling from side to side, as her extremities began to balloon up just like her gut. Bloody tears gushed from around her bulging eyes, leaked from her gumline and squirted from her ears. In a matter of moments, Edea more resembled a blood-bloated tick than she did a fetching elven woman.

“What the hell did you do to her?” Kronaxle snapped, smacking Dresnel across the chest.

Dresnel shrugged, staring in horror at what was happening to Edea. “I was just trying to give her a little more pep.”

Edea’s screams choked off, her agony too extreme to properly express, allowing her to hear the way her skin stretched, the way her organs popped inside her. The creaking droned away in her head, growing louder with each moment. Her swollen body had taken on a dark crimson shade, vicious stretch marks crisscrossing over her. She managed a pathetic squeak before her flesh gave out. She exploded into a wave of thick, chunky gore that left the room and its three remaining occupants soaked in her remains.

Kronaxle wiped the layer of gore from his face and glared over at Dresnel. “You’re an idiot.”

* * *

As the sac of the city progressed, the drow rampaged through the population with almost now resistance… but that didn’t mean that none were capable of resisting. The assassins the night before had slain every mage and priest they could find, and with the fall of the temple today the vast majority of the city with the ability to use magic had been killed.

It was the job of Koszar Nirune to make sure that it was all of them. He moved through the city like a wraith, killing anyone among the elves that he detected using magic. He had had his fun this morning… this was about his ascension. He was the second mightiest mage in all of Menzoberranzan… and while some would be happy with that, to Koszar it just meant he had a better view of the seat still above him. If he succeeded brilliantly enough, he might gain the allies he needed to take down Grompf… and that was more important that tearing off a bit of additional cunt for himself.

Most of the time.

When he detected the surge of magic from the noble district, at first he thought that the King and Queen, wizards by reputation, had entered the battle. Eager for the glory that taking them down would bring, he summoned a door in open space and stepped through it, appeared behind ranks of drow warriors trying to break through a few defenders into a noble’s estate. The magic was coming from inside… quite a bit of it. He narrowed his eyes as he examined. Not the King and Queen then… a summoner. The mage was summoning allies to the fight. He needed to get in there.

With a few gesture, Koszar wove a trio of scorching green wedges into existence, willing them to fly forward faster and straighter than the truest arrow. The guards there two men and a woman, and the arrows took the three of them in the chests, the acid flowing out of the magic to drip down their front as they fell to the ground, screaming and dying as their skin melted with their clothing. Drow warriors were quick to hack the men to pieces, but a pair of men dragged the woman off to rape… Koszar Nirune couldn’t be bothered. Gesturing onwards, he sent the others questing through the house, looking for the summoners.

Elira Mizzerun chanted frantically, kneeling in one of the twelve circles as she heard elves scream and die around her. Her blonde hair was damp with sweat, sticking to her face, but she couldn’t brush it away. She had to focus… she could sense the delicate fibers of the spell winding around her, streaming through her mind like the lyrics of an epic ballad. Rania had been a fool not to take her as an apprentice… could that slut Jastira do this? Could she weave a summoning this grand?

Of course, Elira wasn’t doing it alone. A dozen other elves chanted with her, a mix of men and women, but the bulk of the effort came from her, she was sure. She was the one to lead them, the one who knew the spell… the others followed her lead. Soon she would have summoned elemental beings from the outer planes, the ancient servants of the elvish people, and she would turn them on the invading drow armies. She would be the one to drive the armies back… and then Rania would be forced to admit that she was wrong about summoning magic, that it was useful, that she was strong.

The door burst open. The drow! They had gotten in! Her guards must all be dead by now… no matter. Even as the killing started, Elira focused, hardening her will. As summoners died in their circles, it became harder but the spell was so close to complete now… she held it together with sheer will, gripping onto the summoning, channeling it, trying to tune out the screams of the dying.

Exhilaration filled her as she felt her call be answered. The the ground shuddered beneath the floorboards and brilliant light filled the room… and then four being stood in the center of the room. There were featureless pillars of energy… a glowing sphere of Fire, a rumbling pile of Earth, a bubbling fountain of Water, and a nearly invisible swirling column of air. Four elementals… and she had called them.

Elira looked around. Of the elves that had begun this summoning with her, only four were left. It would be enough. “I will remember you, brothers and sisters,” she said nobly, smiling at the hesitant drow. “Kill them!”

The elementals didn’t move.

A tiny trickle of panic filled her. “Kill them!” she commanded. The elementals began to move… just a tiny twitch in the direction of the drow… then they froze again. Only then did Elira notice it… a second set of threads weaving through the spell she had woven, fighting for control. A will fighting against hers for control. It shoved at her, pressed hard enough at her that the blonde elf actually leaned back. So strong…

“Pathetic!” a cold voice snarled as one drow pushed through the rest. He wore black clothing and silver jewelry, his white hair seeming to glow in the reflected light of the fire elemental. “I thought I sensed someone strong!” he spat out. “Someone worthy! Instead I find a group of children playing with the toys of their betters… too stupid to know better than to call up beings against someone so weak. Trying to use summoning in war… are you desperate or a fool?”

The drow wizard took several more steps forward, and three of the four elementals flinched away from him. Only the water did not, held by Elira’s desperate will. “I had hoped I found someone worthy of taking as a pet. Instead I find corpses.” He looked over the four elementals in the middle of the room… now his servants. “Kill them,” he ordered.

Three of the four immediately surged forward. Neslaika, Yttri, and Rasham barely had time to scream before Earth, Wind, and Fire were upon them. Elira could see it. Neslaika was buried beneath an avalanche of Earth as it crushed her to the floor with the snap of breaking bone and a brief, aborted cry. Seconds later, she could see blood oozing out from beneath the mass of stones and dirt. Yttri opened her mouth to scream, and Wind flew directly into her mouth. Her eyes wide with panic, the dark haired elf tried to stumble out of the room, and at a gesture from the wizard the soldiers let her go. She didn’t make it all the way into the hallways before she simply exploded, the spinning vortex of wind ripping her apart from the inside. The two of them died with barely a sound, but Rasham had all the time in the world to scream as fire coursed over her. Her clothing went up like a torch, and her hair caught fire a bare instant later. Her screams were horrible as her eyes popped in the heat, fat bubbling from beneath her skin as she was boiled alive in her skin by the heat of the elemental. Finally, after what felt like forever to Elira, her screams stopped… and the only sound was the crackling of cooking flesh.

She stared at the remaining elemental, desperately fight for control of Water. He… couldn’t… do this. He… was… hers…

The drow wizard glanced at the water elemental… and Elira felt her will snap like it was a spiderweb in a door, brushed aside as effortlessly as a swipe of a hand. She gasped as she felt herself lose completely control of the spell, felt it ripped away from her by the dark skinned wizard in front of her. “Useless,” he growled… and Water rushed at her.

Elira clasped her hands over her mouth to stop the scream, but the elemental didn’t care – to her horror it simply poured into her through every other opening. It soaked through her clothing and into her cunt and ass. It poured through her nose and down into her lungs and stomach both. Despite her struggling, despite her attempts to mentally command the elemental to obey, Water filled her insides completely. It felt like every inch of her was filled, every hole stuffed full… like the elemental was trying to force even more of itself into her through every pore, through her ears, through her belly button, through her urethra… every single gap in her skin felt like it was being fucked at once.

As she was simultanously drowned and battered to death, she noticed the wizard had his cock out and was slowly stroking it. He was looking for a slave… he had said so. She tore off her clothing, exposing her breasts to the glow of Fire and offering herself to the wizard as much as she could… and he laughed. “You? You think I want something as worthless as you? No, this is for them…” He gestured, and with her darkening vision Elira could see Fire, Earth, and Air… kneeling on the ground. Earth’s skin was darker and rough than Neslaika’s ever had been but otherwise Earth was now the elf woman’s splitting image. Yttri’s entirely body seemed gossamer as Air took her form, her hair like lightning blowing in the breeze over nearly transparent skin. and Rasham looked almost normal, save for the glow of flame rising from beneath her skin and behind her eyes. The woman had once had flaming red hair, but now that hair was literally flame, blowing in the breeze of Air next to her.

The three elementals rested on their knees, their hands held behind their bodies as they presented naked forms to the wizard. “At least you managed to do something right, you worthless surface whore,” the wizard mocked. “You brought us some interesting cunt. For that, I’ll let Water look like you as she gets raped… its the closest to being worthy of me that you will ever get.”

As Elira dropped to the ground, the lights behind her eyes long faded, Water poured out of her. Guided by Koszar’s will, she took the form of the beautiful blonde elf entirely in shades of blue and green, rapidly churning water giving her body hard, touchable surfaces. Koszar couldn’t tell if those were tears on her face from what he had made the elemental do or if Water was just leaking… he hoped it was the former. He looked at the other drow. “Have fun with them,” he said dismissively. As the crowd of drow fell onto the four helpless elementals, eager to find out how unique their holes would feel, Koszar sighed and walked from the mansion. At least this hadn’t been a complete waste of time… but there was still work to do.

* * *

The smell of smoke didn’t even register to Raeshi Tunglye… she was far too used to it. The master blacksmith pumped the bellows, heating her forge hotter and hotter with each pump. It was exhausting work, and most had told her that it wasn’t fit work a woman… over the last hundred years she had proved them all wrong. Her body wasn’t lean like most elves… she wasn’t bulky or strong like a warrior, but her limbs were tight and chorded with muscle, her fingers delicate and gifted from their skill at creating, and if she sweat heard in her workshop it was more from the heat than the exertion.

When the drow had come into her workshop, she had fought at first. She was as strong as any of them, stronger than most, but she didn’t know how to fight. She resisted strongly enough that she almost knocked one of the drow into her forge. He had caught himself, but his face had been burned where it had struck the side. If she were a man, they would have rammed one of their swords into her guts… but unfortunately for Raeshi, she wasn’t. And while she fought bravely with one of her larger hammers, eventually one of the drow smashed her in the back of the head with an unforged iron rod, and she dropped like an ingot to the floor.

When she woke up, two of the drow were working her forge while a third, the one with the burned face, held her down. Seeing others using her forge, her tools, bothered her nearly as much as the pounding in her head. It took her a few moment to realize she was naked and the burned drow was roughly squeezing her tits one after the other. “I am going to make you wish you had never been born,” he whispered into her ear, his burned face pressed against the side of hers. 

As the drow pulled a pair of manacles out of her forge with tongs, seeing them glowing crimson with heat, Raeshi could tell he was as good as his word. He held her in place, the struggling elf screaming as she felt the heat of the manacles… creams that became horrific shrieks as her skin began to sizzle beneath them. The drow showed her no mercy, however… they sealed them around her before letting her to her feet, to desperately try and struggle her way out of the metal driving her mad as it scorched her flesh

Raeshi thrashed around furiously, almost unthinking, the agony in her arms and wrists as she screamed herself raw and hoarse. She had no rational thought, no ability to think about anything but the burning pain and trying to get away from it, even thought it was impossible… they stopped her if she randomly started to scramble towards the exit, but otherwise they let her desperately flop around until it got boring. Then they dunked both her shackles, and her face, into one of the quenching barrels before beginning to rape her.

The first one had his fun fun while couldn’t breath, but it was just a start… by the time her ass was leaking cum, she had been dumped onto the ground to gasp and sob. Her voice was gone, her throat clearly damaged, but the shackles were merely hot enough to be agonizing against her burned skin rather than torturous… Raeshi lay on the ground, sobbing brokenly and wishing for death. Then the drow showed her what they had been doing in the meantime. Her anvil now glowed orange with the heat of the flames and she sobbed harder, knowing they intended to make her suffer with it somehow.

The burned one was named Danin, and he took pleasure in holding her hands down against the anvil and hearing them sizzle as fresh nerves died. Then he took her hammer and one by one broke every one of the master artisan’s strong, skilled fingers, smashing them flat as he put her tool to be a more satisfying, and gruesome, use than she could have imagined.

Then he gripped the back of her back and shoved her down on the anvil by her tits.

Raeshi didn’t think she could scream anymore, not after watching her hands been destroyed, not after the shackles, but she surprised herself. The sound was more of a pathetic, high-pitched burbling, not loud… but it was a sad, sobbing scream as she felt her tits begin to sear while the second drow raped her. She struggled weakly, but found that the flesh of her breasts had already been stuck to the hot metal. The drow laughed at her pathetic attempts, waiting for her to rip her own skin off in the attempt to flop herself off the anvil and to the ground… before viciously pushing her right back onto the stovetop they had turned her anvil into.

The blacksmith wished that she could die, but her strong, healthy body betrayed her over and over. It held onto life as she was raped over and over. It held onto life as Danin held her face down against the anvil, giving her a burn to match his own. And it held onto life as the drow began to cut off her cooked tits and eat the soft flesh, building up their strength so they could rape her again.

Raeshi was a mute, cum-soaked wreck by the time they were finished with her, her beautiful, prized body turned into an absolute ruin. She still lived, despite her best efforts to do otherwise. Danin still worked on her forge, making new bonds for her… sloppily, the least skillful things ever made at her forge, but they would do. Hollow eyed, the elf didn’t even react as the band was wrapped around her torso and then nailed and welted into place against her hot forge. She wept and whined as she was further burned by the heat… but then blinked in surprise as Danin just spat into her face before pushing the quenching barrel close enough that her bound, mutilated hands could dip into it.

“Have a nice life,” he mocked her… then he and his fellow soldiers turned and left.

Raeshi didn’t know what was going on, when they were going to be back to rape her more, to kill her. It took until the forge burned out and finally grew cold and that she realized that they… or anyone else… weren’t going to be coming back for her. There was was water aplenty nearby – if she was willing to sip it off her mangled palms – but no food at all. 

Even through her exhausted, pained brain, she understood. The water was there to torment her. It was a temptation. She was pitifully aware of it, of how badly her parched throat already wanted it… but if she drank, she would only be prolonging her life towards a more painful death… longer if her desperate, addled mind gave in further to temptation and she didn’t start eating what little was left of her own cooks breasts.

It would be better to die parched in a day or two… she knew that.

But she was so thirsty…

Maybe just one sip?

* * *

Burolia Sargwyn and her daughter, Loreleia, had just arrived at the city marketplace when the invasion reached them. The attractive older elf and her alluring offspring witnessed a fair number of vicious atrocities before the soldiers turned their attention on them. Burolia made an attempt to defend her daughter from the soldiers, but her efforts were short lived. Her top was torn open, breasts bouncing into clear view, before she was dragged out of the way and her shrieking daughter was converged upon. The younger elf screamed and flailed as soldiers moved in around her and tore at her clothing, stripping her down to her shoes. The pair were herded together, forced over to a large wooden barrel filled with water.

Mother and daughter were bent over either side of the barrel, facing each other. Burolia’s skirt was torn away, her underwear dragged down to her ankles. Sword tips were put to the backs of their necks to ensure the women didn’t cause any trouble as their legs were pulled apart, loins left helpless. Loreleia sobbed and begged her mother to save her while Burolia did her best to give her daughter what she desired, pleading with the soldiers to do what they liked with her, but to spare her offspring. The drow played with their terrified minds as well as their doomed bodies, teasing Burolia with the possibility of earning her daughter’s prolonged existence.

“We’re only taking one of you,” the drow ordered. “I’ll only be taking one of you. One of you gets to earn an existence being packed full of cum for the rest of her life. The other… well, the other also gets to get packed full of cum for the rest of her life. The only difference is, her life ends today. If you don’t want me to kill your daughter…” his eyes glittered. “Kiss her. Give us a show.” 

Her eyes wide with horror, Burolia leaned forward and kiss her… just a miniscule peck of the lips. The soldier pressed the tip of his blade harder into Loreleia’s neck, making it perfectly clear that that wasn’t going to be close to enough. Feeling sick, Burolia tried again, stuffing her tongue into her daughter’s mouth. When even that performance was found lacking, the soldier growled and shoved Loreleia’s head into the barrel, deep beneath the surface of the water.

“No, please!” Burolia shrieked, squirming against the soldier behind her and earning a deep cut along the back of her neck. “I can do better! Just don’t hurt my baby, please!”

Loreleia was pulled back out of the barrel. She coughed and sputtered water from her mouth, blinking and sobbing. “Mother…” she gasped. “Save me!”

“We have to kiss, child,” she instructed through her tears. “Like lovers.”

Loreleia didn’t like the idea, but she was too terrified to refuse. When her mother leaned in to kiss her deeply a second time, she did her best to kiss back with as much passion as she could muster. The pain in her neck lessened slightly, but she could already feel trickles of blood creeping through her hair and down her back. The drow cock stuffing her cunt hurt worse, the size of it stretching her out, hammering against her cervix. She gasped as her mother’s face was pulled away, leaving her to kiss air for a moment.

“Well done, bitch,” the drow fucking Burolia growled into her ear. “I guess we should give you what you want, huh?”

Before Burolia could reply, the drow forced her head into the barrel. Water splashed over the rim. The older elf woman managed to catch half a breath before her dunking. The fleshy spike hammering into her from behind quickened its strokes. Her ability to hear was muted, but she made out her daughter’s panicked screams, now begging the drow to spare her mother’s life. Burolia closed her eyes and tried to gather enough courage to quicken her demise, expel her air and suck down the water. The quicker she died, the less time Loreleia would have to undo the work she’d done to keep her safe. She’d heard the rumors spreading about what the drow had done to the small town they’d invaded before arriving at Soleila. They’d taken captives. She doubted that fate would be much better than dying a relatively quick death, but she had to believe that as long as her daughter lived, there was at least a chance that she could be rescued. Her chest ached from the stale air she had trapped inside her lungs, making it easier for her to give in. She offered her daughter the only thing she had left – a silent prayer – before parting her lips and allowing the air to come bubbling out of her. Then she breathed in deeply and felt a new kind of terrible pain as her body fought instinctively against the imminent drowning.

As she watched the bubbles rising to the surface of the barrel and her mother’s body began to buck wildly against the soldier raping her, Loreleia’s panic intensified. “Please! She’s done nothing wrong! Leave her alone!” She squirmed against the man holding her down, ignoring the deeper cut in her neck that resulted. “Let her live, I beg you! Take what you like from me, but let her live!” Her sobbing overwhelmed her, taking away her words momentarily as she watched her mother’s struggles slackening.

The drow humping into Burolia slowed his gyrations as he felt the woman’s death spasms rolling through her cunt walls. “Bad news, girlie,” he mocked the daughter. “Your mother’s gone.”

“No!” Loreleia screamed, her eyes fixed on her mother’s corpse, seeing nothing more than the occasional twitch run through the body. “She’s still moving! She’s still alive! Pull her out, please! She’s not dead yet!”

The soldier knew better but he was more than happy to show the young elf how wrong she was. He tugged Burolia’s head free from the bucket, giving Loreleia a clear view of her mother’s slack face and vacant eyes, water draining from her gaping mouth. “You sure about that, girlie?” he asked with a laugh. He gave the dead elf’s head a shake. “How alive does she look now?” Loreleia sobbed fitfully, her tortured mind still trying to deny the reality of what she was looking at. The soldier hooked a hand around Burolia’s chin and twisted her head hard, snapping her neck. “How about now?” Satisfied that the young elf was thoroughly broken, he dropped Burolia’s head back into the barrel and resumed his spirited thrusts into the woman’s corpse.

“Alright, your turn,” the drow behind Loreleia announced.

The young elf’s panic shifted gears in an instant. “But, wait!” she shrieked. “You said – “ Her final protest ended in a splash as her head was forced into the barrel alongside her dead mother. Loreleia’s struggles were magnificent compared to Burolia’s. The younger elf had no reason to accept her end. The horror of it all was a good enough motivator, but beyond that, it was the unfairness of her fate that truly made her fight with everything she had. The back of her head knocked against the back of her mother’s head, giving her little room to shift inside the cramped barrel. Still, she could shift side to side relatively easily, back and forth maybe an inch or so, but the one direction she desperately wanted to move in was denied her thanks to the drow soldier’s powerful grip. Her head pounded and her lungs strained. The rapid thudding her heartbeat filled her ears. Her mind flashed with thoughts of her mother, of the fruit she’d planned on buying at the market today, of the cute farmer boy she’d been flirting with off and on – now dead and slumped over his display of fresh produce with his guts mingling with the apples. In the end, the rapid flashing of memories and hopes was obliterated by smothering agony and encroaching oblivion.

Loreleia’s spirited flailing continued right until a sudden end. When the young elf’s life finally blinked out, her muscles were tense and resisting – still straining to pull her head free of the barrel. Then nothing, her muscles loose and limp. The drow snuff-raping her kept her head shoved into the barrel for a few minutes longer, suspecting a trick. But Loreleia’s body remained inert, offering not even so much as a twitch. Finally dragging the soggy head free, the drow confirmed the girl’s death, snapping her neck with a quick and practiced move. Then he dropped her head back into the barrel and resumed fucking the corpse.

* * *

When the sun had risen this morning, Dreisha had risen with it. The bark of her tree, rough to others, had been so comfortable beneath her green skin. Not all people were so civilized as to keep forests within their cities… but the elves were, and the dryad had always been grateful for that. Tiny birds hopped from branch to branch, the wind rustled the leaves, and the steam through her grove gurgled noisily over rocks.

That was why she didn’t hear the screaming until it was far too late. 

A half dozen drow invaders game bursting through the trees while she was bathing in the stream. The two groups looked at each other in shock… Dreisha had never seen a dark elf before, and couldn’t imagine what one would be doing here… much less six with bloody weapons. For the invader’s part, they hadn’t been expecting to see a naked, green-skinned woman waiting for them… but they had known precisely what to do.

Dreisha wasn’t a fighter – she had no chance to resist as they swarmed her, shoving her naked body beneath the stream and silencing her screams to bubbles. A second later, she had a second reason to scream as a cock forced her cunt open, pounding her into the mud and silt beneath the surface of the water as she slowly began to drown. They didn’t let her die, however – the soldier occasionally let her get a breath, enough that she was still alive when he came in her… and when the next soldier did, and the next, and the next. She had just enough air to notice the streamer of crimson floating through the stream… blood seeping into the water from dying in the pillaged city.

By the time they were finished, her skin had largely be scraped off on her back by the hard rocks beneath the surface but there was no other sign of her abuse… the running water had washed the cum away. It was almost a relief when they took her out… especially when she saw they were returning her to her tree.

Then she saw the axes.

Each cut into the tree left bloody gouges in Dreisha’s skin as well… she screamed, writhing in agony on the floor as they cut many of her branches off. It felt like having hers arms and legs chopped off, over and over and over again. Compared to that, it didn’t feel that bad when someone started shoving one of her tree’s branches up her ass… at first.

She found that she could still feel it… even cut from her tree, the branch was still a part of her. As the drow raped her ass with it, she could feel it both ways… feel her ass squeezing it and feel it tearing her apart. And they wouldn’t stop, just wouldn’t stop, no matter how she wailed. When her body began to break she was already out of breath to scream, already out of tears to cry as the cock ripped into her. She screamed anyway. Dreisha released a shriek of epic proportions as the hard wood ripped out of even the tender socket of her ass, one slow in at a time, and she continued to scream out the agony as it went further and further. 

The dryad’s legs kicked wildly through the air and her fists beat against the drow holding her, hoping to make them let her go. She felt her hips dislocate to make room for the branch… and all the while she could feel how impossibly tight her own insides were on it. Tears of sap streaked freely down her cheeks as Dreisha’s eyes bulged from their sockets, the dryad’s traumatized mind going completely insane as she suffered the anguish of having her guts and stomach raped by a piece of herself. 

Dreisha’s slim stomach bulged outward as the branch moved further. She could see a bulge between her breasts, and her gut looked pregnant… a second later she coughed up blood, and then horribly she felt it coming up her throat, up into her face, out her mouth… tasting her ass and blood and ruined body on its length as it scrubbed her tongue raw with the bloody bark. 

Then, once she was fully impaled, the drow worked together to heave her back up into the boughs of her tree. She was still alive, somehow… still alive, even in agonizing impalement… even unable to move for the pain. But she was alive, and they were leaving her alone.

Dreisha thought that right up until she smelled the smoke as they set her precious grove of trees on fire. It took her tree more than an hour to burn down… and she felt every second.

* * *

Ilsevel Kelbanise had a distinctive pep in her stumble as she made her way back to the little hideout she called home. It had been a splendidly long night of plying her trade, drinking and laughing and seducing her way through more than a dozen inebriated pub patrons, lightning them of their valuables as she went along. The buzz of alcohol was fading, leaving behind a pervasive sleepiness. She decided she could tally up all the loot she’d swiped later on. The first thing she was doing when she arrived at the little secret hovel was passing out. When the drow soldiers reached her section of town, she wasted a few precious moments blinking slowly at the advancing troops, struggling to figure out if what she was looking at was real or just a lingering aftereffect of that glowing tonic the apothecary had slipped her at the start of the previous night.

By the time Ilsevel convinced her brain to believe what she was seeing, the soldiers were nearly on her. She turned and sprinted away, her frantic mind coming up with a simple plan. Make it to her hideout. She had supplies there, enough to live off of for a little while. The elven authorities had never been able to find the place. She hoped the drow would have similar issues. She just needed to put enough distance between herself and her pursuers to avoid them seeing her secret entrance. As tired as she was, Ilsevel focused entirely on running, ducking into the narrow alleyway where the route to her hideaway began.

Racing to the end of the alleyway, Ilsevel crouched and pried open the false wall concealing the passage. She threw herself inside and tugged the covering back into place, hoping that in her haste she hide her bolt hole well enough to remain undetected. The thief didn’t bother waiting around to confirm, crawling her way through the narrow tunnel. She’d just rounded a corner when she heard the covering being tugged aside and the sound of the drow soldiers chasing after her into the tunnel system. She let out a frustrated sob and crawled faster. Pulling herself into her hideout, Ilsevel felt only the smallest bit of relief, certain that the enemy would be meeting here there shortly.  
The drow soldiers found Ilsevel backed into the far corner of her hideout, clutching a hilariously small dagger in her shaking hands. The second she saw them, she flung the weapon aside and lifted her hands into a placating sign of surrender. “Wait, please!” she gasped, panic in her eyes. “Think about this. I’ve been prowling this city since I was a kid. I can help you, right? If you take over the city, you’re going to need informants. I can get into and out of anywhere outside of the castle. I can keep an eye on the other elves, let you know if any of them plan to cause any trouble.” Seeing her words were having little effect on the soldiers, she shifted tactics.

“Do you need proof of how valuable I could be for you?” she asked, pulling her heavy loot sack up and opening it. She pulled out the goods she’d swiped the previous night. Necklaces of gold and silver, rings embedded with precious stones, so many coins of varying denominations. “This was just from a single night,” she told them. “I have more here. I could steal for you. Invasions can’t be cheap, right? You need some way to fund your efforts. Let me help, huh?” She offered the stone-faced soldiers a hopeful smile. “You see, yes? You see how valuable I am? I get to live now?”

Nalas Noqurret, the leader of the squad who’d chased Ilsevel into her hovel frowned. “Never trust a thief, boys,” he growled. “They’re only ever really interested in helping themselves.”

“No, but I’m not like other – “ Ilsevel started, yelping as Nalas stepped forward and smacked her sack of goods from her hand. “Please, just let me prove – “ The soldier cut off her words a second time, closing his fingers around her throat and tugging her away from the wall. He threw her down onto the small bed she’d made for herself in the hideout, the tangles of sheets dirty and stained. He kept her pinned there by the throat as the others moved in to tug away the thief’s clothing. Glaring down into her terrified eyes, Nalas reached back to snag the dropped loot bag. With her short, spiky brown hair and pale green eyes, she had a pixie-like look about her. Certainly cute. But he had no interest in fucking her. He left that to his men, who happily climbed on top of Ilsevel and started to ram their pricks into her bared cunt.

Scooping up a handful of the coins from the thief’s pack, Nalas sorted through them, starting with the smallest coins first. He loosened his grip on her throat as he pushed one of the small coins past her lips. He forced her mouth to close and pinched her nose shot, forcing her to swallow. “Let’s see how much of a taste for thievery you truly have,” he growled, grabbing two of the smallest coins and dumping them into Ilsevel’s mouth. The terror and pain in her eyes as she strained to swallow, again and again as more and more coins were deposited into her mouth, amused him greatly. When he realized he was out of coins to feed her, Nalas had to admit that the young thief had found a way to impress him. He reached his free hand down, sliding it between her and her current rapist, to grab at her belly and give it a firm shake. “Are you jingling yet?” If he dug his fingers in hard enough, he thought he could feel the solid mass of the pile of coins stuffing her stomach. “Don’t worry, you will be soon.”

With no more coins to feed Ilsevel, Nalas moved on to the rings. His admiration for her ability to suffer for him was nearly ruined as she strained to swallow the first one, her aching throat finding it difficult to handle the larger, awkwardly shaped obstruction. Her face was flushed and sweaty by the time she finally managed to gulp down the ring, coughing afterwards. The blood that crept onto her lips told him that her throat had suffered a few cuts from the ring’s more jagged edges. Her struggles and the damage she’d endured didn’t stop him from forcing a second ring into her mouth. She took that one easier. The ring was smaller, smoother, and her throat had grown a little more accustomed to take the inedible material. Nalas didn’t give her long between fresh insertions to gasp for fresh air. The flow was steady, the only pauses due to Ilsevel’s strained efforts to gulp down the larger rings. When the rings were finally gone, Nalas could feel definite bulging in the thief’s gut. He gave it a few hard squeezes, delighting in the whines of pain she emitted as the lump of coins and rings jabbed at her innards.

Ilsevel shook her head as much as she could, tears draining from her eyes, as Nalas held up the first necklace. He replied with a cruel laugh. “Don’t try to tell me your full,” he said. “We both know thieves never get full. They’re always hungry for more.” The first necklace was simple enough, just a thin gold chain, but it presented Ilsevel with a new form of obstacle to contend with. Her scratched and bloody throat strained to clench and swallow around the thin length of metal, having to swallow hard to draw the jewelry into her body an inch at a time. Her progress was undone as, halfway down, she gagged so hard she expelled the portion she’d managed to swallow. Nalas did not relent, feeding the saliva-soaked necklace back into her mouth.

The thief’s gut throbbed, clogged with so much inedible material. Her throat was a swollen passage of raw nerves and tattered flesh. Her cunt ached from the repeated penetrations she’d taken, leaking a steady flow of cum out onto the bed between her thighs. Her mind had gone dull, surrounded by misery and operating automatically, praying for an end. The sight of the glimmering ruby amulet snapped her back into awareness. She remembered the grab well, likely one of the most profitable items she’d managed to lay her hands on. The ruby was huge, nearly the size of a fist. It looked even larger as Nalas forced the gem down into her mouth. He had no need to pinch her nose shut this time. The ruby was more than large enough to block her throat completely, demanding that she either swallow the thing or die.

Ilsevel tried, very hard, to force the massive ruby down her throat. The blood coating the walls of her throat helped to lubricate the gem, making it possible for her to get the thing a little ways down. The front of her throat bulged around the ruby, allowing Nalas to watch its progress. Ilsevel’s eyes bulged, face shifting to a dark shade of red as she kept on trying to swallow. Her mouth gaped open, the heavy chain of the amulet draped across one drool-soaked cheek. Ilsevel managed to get the ruby most of the way down her throat before her body gave out on her. Her gagging efforts faded into weakening gurgles as her pale green eyes grew dim. Her limp body rocked beneath the drow currently pumping into her now dead sex.

Nalas shook his head and tossed the mostly empty loot sack aside. “And just like every other thief that’s ever existed, your eyes were bigger than your stomach,” he mocked, finally pulling his hard cock free. “Let me help you with that.” He climbed onto her chest and grabbed a fistful of her spiky hair, tilting her head forward so he could fuck his way into her mouth. A few vigorous thrusts managed to jam the ruby the rest of the way down Ilsevel’s throat, but by that time, she was well beyond the point of needing to breathe. He fucked the dead thief’s face hard, draining his aching balls down her gullet to baste the collection of valuables clogging her stomach.

* * *

Talanashta Keahana had arrived in Soleila only a day before the drow attack, finishing another circuit of her merchant route through a variety of near – and not so near – towns. She’d been eager to spend a week in the city, resupplying, resting, and selling off the goods she had which could not be found locally. The drow soldiers found her sleeping in the back of her merchant wagon. Her pleasant dreams became a waking nightmare as rough hands grabbed and groped her. Her eyes snapped open and she let out a scream as the obsidian faces came into focus above her. Clad in only a pair of panties, it didn’t take the soldiers long to strip Talanashta. They had her bent over the chest where she kept her earnings a moment later, screaming as her asshole was violated for the first time.

Moments after the cum filled her bowels and her sphincter was left stretched and gaping, the rough hands returned, pulling the merchant up and flinging her back against the wagon’s wall. Her back smashed the shelf of goods there and she fell amidst her pile of merchandise. Two more drow moved in on her fast, one wrenching her legs up and apart so he could squeeze his way into her pussy while the other stepped in front of her and silenced her panicked yelling with his stiff meat. The cock pumped through her lips, gagging her again and again. The speedy thrusts of the drow between her thighs stirred a humiliating pleasure deep inside her. Talanashta closed her eyes and tried to ignore the sensation.

By the time the cock inside her burst, layering the walls of her pussy in creamy warmth, her efforts prove to be in vain. The muscular tremors working their way out from her crotch left her bathed in shame. When the drow standing before her withdrew his spent prick, her head rolled to the side, groaning and drooling jizz over her chin. She coughed up some more of the spunk as she was rolled over again, forced to remain perched on her hands and knees as another drow took his shot at her upraised ass. Talanashta doubted there was any hope for rescue. If such a sizable drow force had managed to breach the walls of the city and they weren’t engrossed in an ongoing battle, it meant the city had already fallen. She and others like her were only the start of the victory celebration.

With her wagon providing a sense of privacy that only a few of the other assaults transpiring around Soleila could boast about, the road outside the wagon became crowded with soldiers eager to duck inside and fuck what was left of the merchant. It was well into the afternoon by the time it was decided that Talanashta was too stretched out and used up to provide much more entertainment. Her wagon soon became a point of very different celebration as lit oil lanterns were chucked into it. The drow soldiers cheered and laughed as the wagon burned, the sight of the cum-soaked merchant flailing and screaming within as her skin was charred and her blood boiled. When the fire finally died down, the only thing left of Talanashta was an ash-coated, blackened skeleton.

* * *

With no army to defend them, a handful of the cityfolk banded together to defend their city. They did not last long, butchered with such brutality that many of the would-be defenders ran screaming from the fray, only to be quickly caught and painfully killed.

Huethea Jostina was snatched into the powerful grip of Turot. The ogre gave the flailing woman a yellow-toothed grin before clenching his hand around her. The elf’s eyes bulged before shooting free from their sockets. A geyser of gore erupted from her mouth while another shot from her crotch as the pulped remnants of organ and bone struggled to find space for themselves. The ogre flung the corpse aside, leaving Huethea’s body horribly mangled, chest and waist crushed into a thin length of twisted and torn flesh clinging to her spine.

Lyra Torstina hit the ground hard, sobbing and screaming as she stared down at the axeblade embedded in her chest. She howled as her attacker pried the weapon free, leaving behind a deep gouge running the length of her cleavage. The muscular orc dropped onto her, squeezing his thick fingers into the wound before flexing outwards. With a series of snaps and cracks, Lyra’s rib cage was ripped upwards and peeled back, exposing her lungs, heart, and other insides to the orc. Lyra’s screaming faded into desperate gasps as the orc tore her heart free, sheathing his cock through a still-spurting artery. In her final moments of terrible life, the elf watched others move in and rip away her organs, using them in whatever perverse way they could find.

Tarasynora Farsandoral was well aware of the fact that everyone else in her group of courageously stupid townsfolk was dead. She did her best to ignore it, focusing on the intense swordfight she’d gotten herself into. She’d taken some lessons, had even toyed with the notion of joining the army, which was why the sword moved a bit more skillfully in her hands. The drow soldier was skilled, too. Likely even more skilled than she was. But Tarasynora had one advantage over her opponent. He was distracted. It was clear by the glean in his eyes and the bulge in his pants that the mere sight of her turned him on. Her proficiency with the weapon she wielded seemed to turn him on even more. The woman was certain she would die no matter what the outcome of the fight, but she thought dying would be a little bit easier if she at least got to do it with the knowledge that she’d at least taken one of the bastards with her. So she bided her time, and looked for her opening.

After a few more minutes of playing with the elf, Elkantar Argith decided he’d coaxed about as much fun as he could out of her while she was still alive. Displaying a level of focus he’d denied her up until that point, he easily knocked her blade aside and jammed the tip of her sword into her belly, far enough to pierce her back. He delighted in the shocked gasp she emitted and let the sharp steel remain embedded in her for a moment longer before pulling back. Tarasynora stumbled back, clasping a hand to her bleeding gut while still clutching her sword in other. It was clear she was determined to go on fighting, to find a way to beat him. He kept his distance from her until the blood loss sapped her admirable strength away.

Tarasynora made a last, desperate lunge at Elkantar. As he knocked her weapon aside, her legs dropped out from under her. She landed in a kneeling pose, gasping for air as the pain radiating up from her pierced belly faded a little, replaced with a cold numbness. She glared up at the drow, trying to show him a bit of defiance right up until the end. Her lips parted, a choice insult resting on them, ready to insult the enemy soldier with her last breath. Elkantar denied her that ability, jamming his sword forward and through her open lips. The elf’s eyes widened as the blade pierced the back of her mouth and skewered her skull. Her arms slumped to her sides, body going limp, held up only by the drow’s sword. Yanking the blade free, he cocked it back and swung hard, cleaving Tarasynora’s head from her body as her corpse began to fall. The head flew several feet from the body, landing and rolling in the street as the rest of her slumped forward onto her tits, spurting a weak spray of blood from her severed neck.

While Elkantar rolled the body over and started to strip it, eager to claim his post-mortem domination over the woman, Tarasynora’s head was scooped up and carried to a line of wooden posts the drow had been erecting as they progressed through the city. Her slack face gave off a death twitch as her esophagus was slotted onto the top of a vacant post, left to witness the defilement of her body.

* * *

Soleila had all but fallen. Its defenders were all either dead or enslaved and its citizens were joining them in droves as the drow army swarmed through the streets. Resistance would earn nothing but death – at best. In the face of utter annihilation, many of the elves attempted to flee the city, hoping to escape before the worst of fates found them. It was an eventuality that the drow had prepared for.

Velatha Valfir led a small pack of escapees. She’d always been quick-footed. She hoped that athletic trait would be enough to save her when it really counted. She held back her speed only a little, not wanting to get too far ahead of the others, three other elven women she’d run into during her twisting journey towards the border of the city. Taenya Brybella, Barinda Revgolor, and Roshia Lialana were even more terrified than she was, making Velatha their de facto leader. She didn’t much like the responsibility, but she was far too eager to escape Soleila to argue about it.

Velatha didn’t see the tripwire until she was stumbling over it. Instinct kicked in, giving her the speed necessary to throw herself clear of the trap. Her trio of followers weren’t so lucky. A thick-roped net sprang up from the street, scooping the women into a jumbled heap and hefting them several feet into the air. The women screamed out their fright and then screamed for Velatha to help them. She froze, looking up at the snared women, a selfless part of her screaming for her to go back, try to loosen the net so they could slip free. But the selfish realist side of her mind insisted there was no time to help. She could already hear the trudging steps of an advancing squad of drow soldiers.

Mumbling out her apologies, Velatha turned and darted to a narrow, flat passage leading from the street down into the sewer system beneath the city. She dropped low and jammed her upper body through the intake, wincing as her breasts were mashed flat against her ribs. Kicking her boots against the street, the frantic elf forced herself through and into the foul-smelling sewer beyond, earning herself a few scrapes and bruises along the way. She tumbled in a disjointed manner, managing to turn in time to avoid bashing her skull against the muck-smeared stone of the sewer tunnel. Ignoring the splatters of filth that soaked into her clothes, Velatha sprang to her feet. She could still hear the others screaming. Guilt demanded her to do something, but the best she could manage was to stretch up to peek through the intake port and watch, a hand clamped over her mouth to keep her own scream contained.

The drow soldiers had reached the narrow street, laughing at and mocking their catch. The three snared women continued to scream and beg, but Velatha was certain it would do them no good. Her suspicions were confirmed a moment later as the soldiers surrounded the suspended net and drew their swords. The screams of terror became screams of pain and death as the drow stabbed their blades into the net and through the women tangled up inside. A drizzle of hot blood poured from the net, spattering over the street below. The swords cut through the ropes as easily as they cut through elven flesh. Before long, the net was too cut up to support the weight of three grown women. Their bloody bodies spilled free, falling into a heap across the street. Taenya and Baerinda were already dead. Roshia sobbed and tried to squirm free from the tangle of lifeless limbs weighing her down. A soldier moved forward, adjusting the aim of his weapon. She lifted a hand to the man, sputtering out a plea for mercy. He jammed the blade of his sword into the side of his neck. With a flick of his wrist, he opened Roshia’s jugular, the last of her blood rapidly spraying out of her.

Velatha backed away from the sewer intake as the bloody carcasses were dragged away. She panted and shuddered, blinking the tears from her eyes. The sight of the butchery left her shocked and horrified, forcing her to take several long minutes to gather her strength. Feeling very tired and even more determined to escape Soleila, the young woman turned and started trudging through the shallow river of waste, following its current out of the doomed city.


	7. The Fall

This is an especially brutal story, filled with torture, rape, and snuff. Be sure this is a thing you want to read before continuing. 

With the majority of their military forces dead or captured, the pathetic defensive line left in the city crumbled before the might of the drow army. The city’s walls were compromised in minutes, the chaos flooding through the streets. Irae allowed the soldiers to largely do what they liked, maintaining her strongest fighting force in a push towards the heart of the city, to where the castle was located. She’d already received word that King Tarron and Queen Gaelira were trapped within the castle’s walls, fighting alongside a meager assortment of guards and soldiers who’d been spared from the failed rescue mission and the initial assault on the city. She traced a leisurely route through the battle-torn city, admiring the sights as she worked her way towards the castle.

The first gruesomely perverse act that caught Irae’s eye was that of a young elven soldier. Alanis Ralororis had fled when the drow assault showed signs of overwhelming the city. She’d not made it far, expertly stricken by a skilled archer as she’d attempted to duck into a barn. Two arrows pierced her, one for each of her shoulder blades, leaving her helplessly pinned to the barn door. She’d been left to suffer there until the drow soldiers had caught up to her, tearing away her pants and taking turns ramming their way up her ass. By the look of things, Irae assumed the elf’s ass had to be quite the pleasant orifice, judging by the small queue that had formed behind her. Alanis’s shrieks of pain and shame poured out of her as her hot blood soaked into the wooden door.

Syllana’s reanimated head hung from Irae’s belt, watching through half-glazed eyes at the destruction and terror being delivered to the beautiful city she’d grown up in. The dead general’s brain was barely capable of thought, but something deep within her psyche was able to connect the images she was seeing with the hazy memories lurking within her skull. Tears trickled down her cheeks as her mouth opened and closed, screaming silently at the misery she witnessed. The deeper Irae rode into the city, the more of it she saw. Her fighting instincts screamed for her to take action, to rush to the aid of the helpless civilians being slaughtered and raped. Syllana’s dulled, undead brain had a tough time recognizing that she no longer possessed a body. She could only watch and suffer as the atrocities taking place before her grew in number.

The next point of interest Irae came upon brought a smile of amusement to her lips. She slowed her reptilian mount, reaching down to angle Syllana’s head so her resurrected victim had a clear view of the action. Kythaela Balkrana had been on her way to the market, planning on buying up a supply of food for the coming week. Getting to the market early offered the best variety of options and being well into her pregnancy, she’d found herself waking in the early hours of the morning frequently. Her swollen belly, layered in sweat and cum, remained firm, although she could feel the panicked movements of the life within as she was mercilessly stuffed full of drow cock. Her milk-heavy breasts jiggled with each stroke she took, both cunt and ass stretched around cruel girths. Kythaela’s screams were muffled, vibrating against the cheeks of the drow soldier who’d settled his ass over her face, enjoying the feel of the woman’s lips against his sphincter. Hating herself more than a little, the pregnant elf extended her tongue, willingly lapping across the orifice pressed so firmly against her mouth in a desperate attempt to earn her life and, by proxy, the life of her unborn child.

Nimor met Irae on route to the castle. “The temple has fallen,” he informed her as he handed over a blackened head. “Their high priestess.” Irae nodded her approval, working her dark powers on the new head and returning it to the same twisted half-life as Syllana. “I took three of the priestesses as prisoners. They’ll make excellent slaves. The rest are dead.”

“Splendid,” Irae commended him. “And your other task?”

Nimor grinned. “It was almost too easy. For all their pride, these elves are proving to be quite the pathetic race. When their overconfidence isn’t enough, they seem to fall into an idiotic panic.”

His point was proven a moment later as Dessielle Iarcyne stumbled out into the road. The soldier’s clothing hung from her thoroughly abused body in badly stained tatters. Her eyes were gone, reduced to gory pits leaking tears of cum. She wailed as she waved her arms about blindly, seeking some kind of escape from her dark hell. It came soon enough as a startled horse charged down the street, knocking Dessielle to the ground. The stallion’s heavy hooves pulverized her flesh, punching gouges through her skin before a back hoof came down on her sobbing face, smashing her skull into a gooey paste. The horse escaped down a side street, leaving behind the elf soldier’s twitching remains.

She directed her eight-legged lizard towards the stables on the street outside the castle. The horses still in here were all dead by now, turned into carrion to feed drow mounts. Irae dismounted, stroking the side of her beloved lizard Kaelissa’s face warmly as she ignored the screams of suffering elves all around her. “Now stay here, sweet thing,” she said, showing him more compassion in that moment than she had shown a single member of the doomed race she had engineered the downfall of. 

She guided him towards one of the stalls, and chuckled at what she found. One of the stablehands must have fled into her. Face down in a pile of horseshit, she had been staked to the ground with horseshoe nails through her palms and fingers, her calves and feet… laying with her ass in the air and dripping cum from her lower holes. The soldiers that had swept through here had left her alive when they finished with her. Maybe they thought the disgusting toilet of a woman would have made a good slave.

Irae didn’t care. Nimor leaned back, watching with a smile as Irae guided Kaelissa into the stable. “For you,” she whispered into her lizards ears… and the monster made a joyful sound as he climbed on top of the staked down, weeping elf. She had already begun to scream before the High Priestess closed the gate, and she wasn’t sure if it was his cock or his teeth making her do it. She would feel both before much longer. 

The two architects of this conquest strode side by side to the site of its conclusion. The sounds of rape and slaughter gave way to those of frantic combat as Irae and Nimor neared the castle. The forward most spearhead of the drow forces had gotten there ahead of them, but weren’t having much luck breaching the castle’s walls. The small contingent of elf soldiers defending the castle were clearly some of the most skilled warriors the kingdom had left, but it was the aid of the king and queen that gave them enough of an edge to beat back the drow soldiers. The rulers had been forced into a tower along the front of the castle’s walls, their elevated position giving them a much needed strategic advantage. But even so, the battle had clearly come to a stalemate. As more of the drow forces converged on the castle, it would only be a matter of time before they took the place by force.

King Tarron and Queen Gaelira were both potent magic wielders, but even they had their limits. Tarron was older with shoulder length white hair and a thick beard. Gaelira was certainly matronly, but she’d maintained her beauty throughout the years and four pregnancies. Her long, thick main of vibrant red hair fluttered around her head as she whipped from side to side, flinging wads of flame and bolts of lightning beside her husband. Tarron’s advanced years had him out of breath and drenched in sweat before his wife began to show much fatigue. Still, while his body grew weak, his will remained strong. Stepping up onto the ledge of the tower, daring the drow archers to pick him off, he glared down at the enemy troops, calling out to them.

“You may win this day,” he bellowed. “But your kind will never truly defeat us. Our lineage will live on, grow strong, and drive you back beneath the ground where you belong. But even that will not be enough punishment for the acts you’ve committed. This will mark the end of drow kind. Perhaps not today, in this city, but you will pay for these atrocities. Mark my words! You will not destroy our legacy!”

Irae reached to her side, loosening the knot she’d made out of Syllana’s hair to keep the living head attached to her belt. The hair was the same vibrant shade of red as her mother. Irae liked the color quite a bit. It was the color of fresh blood. She gripped a fistful of that hair once the knot was undone and hefted Syllana’s head up, towards the tower where the king and queen were defending themselves. Keeping it lifted, she strode closer so that they could see what had become of their eldest daughter. Defeated in battle, killed like a worthless commoner. That fate was enough to shock them. But what had been done afterwards, Syllana’s partial resurrection, forced to go on living trapped in only her head… Irae drank up the looks of horror Syllana’s parents displayed, unable to keep the grin from her face. The longer they looked, the more they noticed. Like how there was no sign of recognition in Syllana’s eyes as they fixed upon Tarron and Gaelira. When she had brought her back, she hadn’t restored the elf general’s memory of them. It had been Irae’s special means of taking their daughter from them in a far more crippling way.

“Your eldest daughter’s fate is certainly sad,” Nimor called out. “But you had to suspect such a thing when she didn’t return from the mission you sent her on.” He reached over to trace his fingers across Syllana’s cheek. “And besides, she was a soldier. Soldiers risk a violent death. Your pampered son, the heir to your throne, on the other hand. He should be miles away by now, safe outside the city with his two twin sisters.”

With a wave of his hand, Nimor ushered his squad of assassins forward. Elincia and Elasha, the twin princesses, were tugged along, shrieking and sobbing, and presented to the king and queen. The assassin leading the group handed a bloody burlap sack over to Nimor. He reached into the sack, feeling around before securing a firm grip on the object within, drawing it out with a sudden jerk. Gaelira let loose a horrified scream as her emerald eyes fixed on her son’s severed head, face frozen in horrified pain, as it was held up for her. Nimor chuckled and tossed Prince Rychell’s head over to Irae. “So much for that legacy you were talking about.”

Irae ran her fingers across Rychell’s face, hooking her thumbs into the sides of his mouth and forcing his slackened face into a sickening smile. She plied her necromantic trade on the lump of dead flesh and bone, returning the young man to a fully aware consciousness alongside a crisp remembrance of his short life, right up until the bloody end. Her eyes lit up with glee as she watched Rychell try to scream. Lifting the head, making sure the king and queen could see, she puckered her lips and brought them to the prince’s severed esophagus, expelling her air through him to aid him in his quest to express his horror. The scream poured from his stretched lips like an eerie, haunting whistle.

Gaelira clung to her husband’s side, tears pouring down her face as she stared in horror at what had become of two of her children. Her eyes shifted to the only offspring she had left, her twin daughters. Elincia and Elasha did not have the same striking crimson hair that their mother and older sister possessed. Theirs was fairer, like their brother and father’s. They were virtually indistinguishable from one another, identical down to the most minute detail. The only true difference between them was only revealed when the sisters were hastily stripped of their clothing. Elincia’s crotch was devoid of hair, the smooth lips of her cunt on full display between her slender thighs. Elasha possessed a narrow strip of blonde pubic hair.

In a matter of moments, the sisters had another thing in common; a hard drow cock slamming into their dry cunts. Their sobs intensified, screaming for their parents to save them. The drow soldiers showed them no mercy, eagerly fucking them with cruel strokes, reaching around to squeeze their tits, tug at their nipples. There were plenty of erect men waiting to take a turn with their royal flesh, gathering around them, making them the centerpiece of the atrocities taking place across the city. “Enjoy the show,” Nimor called up to Tarron and Gaelira with a wide grin. “We are.”

Bent over at the waist, Elasha’s upturned face stared up at her parents, constricted with misery. Her sight of them was obscured as another drow stepped in front of her, gripped her hair, and forced her mouth to take his throbbing flesh. She gagged immediately around his girth as he stabbed forcefully against the back of her throat. The member pounding her from behind swelled within her aching snatch as her rapist clung to her hips, yanking her crotch back against him. The horror of it all threatened to steal her sanity. She’d lived a privileged life of pampering and care. The worst thing she’d ever had to personally face had been the day she’d heard one of the guards whispering about how they thought Elincia was the more attractive of the twins. But she’d certainly gotten her revenge on the man, pretending to be her sister to lure him into a secret and forbidden sexual fling. She’d revealed her true identity to him as his cum had been cooling on her breasts before having him arrested for daring to touch a member of the royal family.

The worst thing Elincia had ever had to deal with, prior to the drow invasion, had been some lightly undercooked meat at dinner one evening, although the sudden arrest of a guard she’d been flirting with frequently had come a close second. Comparatively, being ruthlessly violated by enemy soldiers ranked far higher than either of those events. She screamed for her father to save her as she was forced further down, onto her hands and knees, until her mouth was plugged with drow cock just like her sister’s. She yelped around the thick prick as the man raping her from behind smacked her ass, leaving a glowing red handprint across the pale flesh of her perky cheek. His thrusts intensified, coming to a sudden stop as he plunged his full length into her and filled her royal cunt with his creamy load.

With their daughters suffering down below, Tarron and Gaelira could not risk using their longer-range magical powers. Their meager fighting force wasn’t nearly enough to achieve anything, but they saw no choice but to do anything they could to save their remaining children. The attack was as desperate as it could be. Even knowing they were doomed, the remaining elf soldiers pushed hard. They even managed to do some damage with the king and queen backing them up. But Irae had planned for their final assault. Taking the brunt of their attacks, fresh soldiers pushed ahead over the bodies of their fallen comrades while others moved around the small group of elves, surrounding them completely. Every mage and priest they had was here to blunt the magic of the sorcerer royalty, suppressing them as much as possible… making them weak and vulnerable. Then the drow, their care of casualties suppressed by the lusts for the queen and her retinue, closed the circle until they’d claimed their prize. The remaining male soldiers were killed outright, along with a couple of the more violent women. The rest, along with Tarron and Gaelira, were subdued and secured.

The city of Soleila, heart of the elven kingdom, had fallen. The time had come for the drow to truly have some fun.

* * *

After capturing the king and queen and taking the castle, Irae allowed her troops to continue spreading through the city to have their fun and exterminate or capture every elf they encountered. She was far from finished with the royal family, but she had enough patience to wait a night for a proper execution to be planned. The next morning shone fresh light on the atrocities taking place throughout Soleila, as well as the freshly constructed stage just outside of the castle. While the bulk of the army continued to pillage and rape their way through the streets and buildings throughout the city, a crowd gathered at the front of the castle as cheers rang out to announce their victory and their excitement for the forthcoming festivities. The crowd was made up mostly of drow soldiers, but a number of the servant races enlisted for the invasion mingled amongst them. Orcs and goblins and a troll or two, lumbering around, eager to claim a piece of royal meat. With only three pieces to go around there was far more demand than there was supply. Irae and Nimor made it clear the trio were meant to last, at least for a while, so outright destructive partners were dissuaded from taking a usage.

Turot was not pleased to discover that he was not allowed to violate either of the princesses. The ogre took out his frustration on the nearest fuckable morsel he laid eyes on. Unfortunately for Lusserina Xyrqen, she was that morsel. It brought her streak of good fortune to a gruesome end. She’d managed to avoid being enlisted for the doomed rescue party and had been posted near enough to the castle to retreat within its fortified walls before the invasion had reached her, lending her services to defending the king and queen until they’d launched their final, foolish drive to save Elincia and Elasha. Even that assault had left her surprisingly unharmed, much to the delight of the drow soldiers who’d snatched her up, tearing at her clothes and ramming fleshy things into her vulnerable holes. The night in the castle’s dungeon had been long and hard, filled with an endless stream of rapes that had stopped only briefly as she’d been led out alongside the other prisoners that morning. The drow currently taking advantage of her were knocked aside roughly as Turot slid his fingers under her back and pulled her onto unsteady feet. The young elf had a moment to scream as the battering ram of a cock bashed into her mouth, knocking several of her teeth loose and snapping her jaw. With a wet squelch, the ogre rammed further, punching through the back of Lusserina’s head. Her body fell into spastic convulsions as Turot forced his member through her head. Gripping her shoulder, he shoved downward, tearing the elf soldier’s head off. He closed his fingers around her severed head, sliding it back and forth along his erection while her twitching body resumed its previous role as plaything for the drow soldiers.

Chamylla Perlana had been a loyal servant of the royal family her whole life. Her father had died before her birth, her mother during her birth. King Tarron had taken her in as a newborn and she’d grown up alongside Prince Rychell. She’d been a large baby and had grown into a large woman, tall even by elf standards and – thanks to extensive training and exercise – covered with well-toned muscles. She could go toe-to-toe with an orc – and had – without breaking a sweat. When the invasion had come and the city walls had been breached, Tarron and Gaelira had tasked her with getting their children out of Soleila. But the drow menace had seemed to know the city’s most secret passages better than she did. The guards she’d taken with her had been slaughtered. And despite her best efforts, she’d had to watch – horrified – as Rychell’s head had been taken from his body.

The worst thing about her failure was that she’d lived. The ambush had happened so fast that she’d not had a chance to throw herself in front of the royal children or fight back with enough zeal to secure a quick death. An obsidian-skinned assassin had snuck up behind her, cracking her over the back of the head and felling her powerful form in a single blow. The bindings holding her wrists at her back were strong and tight. They’d kept her restrained securely for the return trip to the castle. She’d had to watch the king and queen who’d been like parents to her stirred into rushing to their own doom. Chamylla had been fairly certain she could snap the ropes binding her if she flexed hard enough, but the guilt crushing down on her was too strong for her to try. Whatever terrible acts the drow and their disgusting minions delivered to her, she deserved it. Remarkably, she’d gone untouched as the king and queen were taken captive, as well as throughout the night. But now that a new day had come, she was nothing more than an object to provide entertainment and pleasure for the victors.

Hands moved over her body, tugging and tearing her clothes open, running along her firm breasts and over her distinct abs. They gripped her tight ass and hooked into her crotch to finger her hairless cunt. She could sense how powerful the drow felt as they roughly groped her strong flesh, knowing they had ultimate control over her. Chamylla let them have their fun, offering no resistance as she was bent over and had her firm buttocks pried apart. She winced as the first drow cock forced its way up her unlubricated asshole, the pain minimal compared to the screams of terror and pain she heard from the twin princesses. She felt their suffering as if it were her own.

Elincia and Elasha were exclusive party favors for the celebration. They were on either side of the stage, wrists restrained, as a queue of higher level drow soldiers took turns having their fun with the siblings. The princesses hadn’t slept a wink during the night, their time fully occupied by an endless stream of rapists moving into and out of their cell, fucking them roughly as their parents were forced to watch and listen from the adjacent cell. They were too pampered to have anything close to a fighting spirit, offering no resistance to their abusers, but seeming to have no shortage of sobs and screams. They utterly absorbed in their own misery, not even noticing as their mother and father were forced out onto the stage.

The rowdy crowd cheered as King Tarron and Queen Gaelira appeared. They’d been fully stripped after their capture, bound in manacles and magic-nullifying collars. They were left standing towards the front of the stage, trophies on display, as the handful of female guards and soldiers who’d stood alongside them the previous day were ferried out and forced into the crowd to keep the aroused throng satisfied. The women were dispersed relatively evenly among the attendees, becoming the center point of small circles of debauchery amongst the horde. They were used roughly, the message clear that none of them were expected to last beyond the execution ceremony.

With everything in place, Irae strutted out onto the stage. Her pale albino skin contrasted against the revealing black leather she wore. The outfit showed nothing truly intimate, but it came close. The top lifted and pushed her breasts together, showing off her cleavage and leaving her midriff bare. Her bottom was a leather miniskirt that came down just past her crotch, the thong underneath barely concealing her labial folds. Gloves that stretched up to her elbows and boots at reached her knees completed her ensemble, making her a seductively intimidating figure. Reaching the front of the stage, Irae settled into a confident pose and addressed her audience.

“For too long, the elves have kept us down. But it seems they’ve grossly underestimated our resolve, our desire for revenge. They blindly fed their army into our clutches. They left their precious capital city woefully under defended. We came for a war, and they gave us a slaughter.” She grinned with excitement. “I like slaughters.” She extended her hands, motioning to the two royal captives on either side of her. “We have their king. We have their queen. We’ve killed their general daughter. We’ve killed their only male heir. And we’ve only just gotten started. A thousand years from now, our people will look back on this day with veneration because it will mark our first major victory in our strive to eradicate this elven menace from the face of our world. They will never take this city back from us. They will never take another thing from us. From this point forward, we will be the ones who take from them. And we shall take everything.” She bathed in the wild applause from the crowd, the rising horror in the elves present for her speech. “Let the executions commence.”

Neither king nor queen were to be killed quickly. They had so much suffering to offer first. The audience had little interest in seeing Tarron abused. He was left as little more than a bystander, his suffering caused by being forced to watch his wife and daughters suffer without being able to do anything to stop it. Gaelira was brought down to her knees, a pose of supplication to start things off as the men specially selected to violate her gathered around her. Three drow and an orc, chosen for their self-control and the size of their cocks – ranging from ten to fourteen inches in length and all of them punishingly thick. If the queen had ever even seen a prick other than her husband’s, it certainly didn’t show on her disgusted face as her eyes scanned across the four erections aimed at her face. Even with half her children dead, her people being raped and slaughtered, and her kingdom fallen, Gaelira still seemed to have a sense of superiority. By the end, it would be long gone.

The queen’s quartet of abusers had all proved themselves to be valuable assets, certainly worthy of the privilege of tormenting the enemy ruler. Pharin Auvryervs and Jhalnet Argistyn had gained a fair amount of notoriety during the rebellion of Menzoberranzan, breaking the drow women who’d been deemed worthy enough to keep around as slaves and breeding stock. Their methods were extreme, but effective, not only in reducing the women to willing whores but doing so in short spans of time. And all without damaging the good looks of their subjects. Gashna, the orc, was a prominent chief. His older age had tempered his innate bloodlust but left him with more than enough experience to be a ruthless military commander. The legends of the many orc females he’d managed to subdue and mate with were mostly true, proving that he had the tenacity and wisdom to handle even the strongest of mind and body. The final drow, Istonel Ichaerth, was one of Nimor’s best assassins. His mind was especially twisted, filled with perverse desires. Together, they were more than a match for Queen Gaelira, no matter how proud she was.

Pharin and Gashna closed in behind her, smacking their cocks against the back of Gaelira’s head, while Jhalnet and Istonel stepped in front of her, dragging the tips of their erections against her cheeks. The hatred and humiliation was clearly painted across the queen’s face. Istonel grabbed her hold of her jaw, forcing it open so he could push his cock past her lips, the first of what would become many unwanted penetrations. The others continued to beat her with their dicks while Istonel fucked her face. Judging by how badly she gagged around the thick member, the queen had never been a fan of orally pleasuring a male, willingly or otherwise. Irae didn’t think she learned much from her crash course in cocksucking, but it was certainly an entertaining show, watching the four men taking turns stuffing her mouth with their pricks. She managed to spit and drool the first couple of loads, leaking them across her breasts. When Gashna took his turn, he showed the queen just how good he was at bending a woman to his desires. Clutching her head against his crotch, he kept his erection lodged down her throat, forcing her to choke on him until he came. He did not release his hold on her, giving her a clear choice. Swallow or die. Amusingly, Gaelira seemed to struggle with the choice, but she finally gulped down the orc’s hot jizz and was rewarded with the ability to breathe again, left gasping and coughing.

Pulling Gaelira to her feet, they dragged her to the crossbeam erected on the stage, strapping her into a standing spread-eagle pose leaving her vulnerable at both ends. Pharin, Jhalnet, and Gashna moved up behind her while Istonel stepped in front of her and knelt, his face inches from Gaelira’s royal cunt. Her pussy lips were well hidden behind a thick patch of fiery pubic hair, but Istonel didn’t need a map to find the entrance to her body. His hands moved up the insides of her thighs, thumbs curling to push through the pubic hair and pry open her cunt. After lubing his cock up with some oils, Pharin stepped up behind Gaelira and took hold of her by the hips. He pushed the head of his erection between the cheeks of her ass, finding her sphincter and pressing firmly. The queen groaned with dismay as her ass stretched around the rapist. As she did, Istonel moved forward, extending his tongue and dragging it through the cleft of her pussy, delivering a small dose of pleasure to go alongside the shameful discomfort of having her rear fucked.

The three took turns slamming their pricks up the queen’s rear, hammering home the reality that she was theirs to toy with, while Istonel continued his oral assault on her cunt. His tongue was nimble, his lips tender. He’d developed his techniques over the course of many years, a little gift he liked to bestow on his female victims, plying them into over-pleasured slabs of trembling flesh before dealing the killing blow. And while he doubted he’d be the lucky one to take the queen’s life, his methods worked splendidly alongside the repeated anal poundings to break down her spirit, leave her sweating and moaning out with shame, getting off on her own abuse.

When he felt she was ready, Istonel slid the sickening sex toy Irae had passed him before the start of the event. The severed cock was firm, magically preserved and forced to maintain its erect state. It felt warm in his hand, but he ignored the revulsion he felt as he brought the tip of the dead dick to Gaelira’s dripping cunt. He teased her with it a little, dragging it back and forth along her hairy pussy lips. He pushed the phallus into her slowly, almost gently. A stark contrast to the vigorous fuck-thrusts the others were giving her aching asshole. Her body responded instinctively to the penetration, grinding her hips forward in an effort to feel more of the pleasant sensations radiating up through her loins and avoid the pain pounding away at her rear. Istonel grinned and fucked her with the toy a little faster, rewarding her for her behavior.

The assassin made sure Gaelira got off on the cock, several times, just as he’d been instructed. Drawing it free from her quivering snatch, Istonel rose to his feet and presented it to her, prodding it against her lips. “Suck it like a good girl,” he growled. “Or I break your jaw and jam it down your throat. Not a very noble way for a queen to die.”

Gaelira blinked the tears from her eyes, rolling her head away from the cock. “What does it matter?” she groaned.

Istonel leaned in closer, his voice becoming a low, conspiratorial whisper. “I tell you this from experience. I’ve seen women die choking on a cock. It’s not a good way to go. Very painful. Very humiliating. If I’m being perfectly honest, our only goal here is to humiliate you. You’re going to die. That can’t be avoided at this point, I’m afraid. But if you put on a good show, reveal yourself to be a weak whore for our amusement, I can promise you something of a painless death. I have poisons, fast acting ones. Your life will fade before you even know it’s happening. But you have to play along, my dear.”

The queen leveled a glare at him. “And what if I’d rather suffer?”

Istonel shrugged. “Then you’re an idiot.” He put the cock back to her lips. “If it helps any, you have a stunning taste. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

Gaelira remained firm until the assassin gave a disgruntled sigh and gripped her jaw. Her resolve broke, hastily parting her lips and leaning her head forward to wrap them around the cock. Istonel grinned and held the base of the shaft, allowing her to bob her head along the length, seeing the revulsion in her eyes and the bafflement at just how life-like the sex toy was, the way it seemed to pulse with warmth. It didn’t stop her from continuing to filate the member, showing a good deal more enthusiasm than she had when she’d been on her knees such a short time ago. Her willingness to suck the cock did not save her from the forceful penetrations of the trio taking turns with her ass, but it did earn her cruel laughter and mocking insults from the watching crowd.

Seeing the queen sucking the unique cock, Irae decided it was time to have a bit of fun with the king. She tugged him forward, positioning him so that Gaelira would be able to see him. “Look at her,” she purred into the older man’s ear. “Getting fucked like some commoner. Tell me, has she ever sucked your cock with such enthusiasm? Does this turn you on?” She reached around him, stroking her gloved fingers along his drooping shaft. “It appears not.” She moved her hand away. “Well, let’s see what we can do about that, shall we?” She tugged a length of ribbon free from her skirt and pulled it up to Tarron’s face, looping it around his face so that his eyes were blocked. Tying the ribbon tightly, she left the king blind to the atrocities befalling his wife and daughters. “Does that help?” Irae asked, reaching back to give his dick another squeeze. His body responded, but the disgruntled groan he emitted said that he greatly wished it had not.

The lack of sight didn’t help Tarron in the slightest. If anything, it made the sobs of his daughters and the slurping of his wife’s mouth on the preserved cock that much louder. And it made certain portions of his body more eager to react to the sounds he heard and the touches he felt. He cursed his member from stirring under the albino bitch’s touch and breathed a sigh of relief when her fingers left him. The lack of attention was short lived. He let out a shocked gasp as chilly lips slid around the head of his cock, tongue moving to lap at him. He sprang to full hardness in moments and the mouth eased further along his length. Humiliation rolled through him as he squirmed in his bondage and cursed the drow whore for her horrid behavior.

“I’m afraid on this point, your blame is misdirected, my liege,” Irae said with a cruel smirk, reaching up to yank the blindfold away. Tarron blinked his eyes and stared at her in confusion for a few moments before looking down to see his eldest daughter’s living head happily sucking him off. Horrified revulsion hit him, bringing tears to his eyes and a wail of dismay up his throat, but none of it was enough to reduce the rigidity of his cock. He remained stiff in Syllana’s mouth as she sucked with as much skill as her reanimated flesh could muster, working diligently to get her father off. Tarron fought the sensations as best he could, but he could already feel a tension in his loins. It would not be long before he fired his cum into what remained of his dead daughter’s throat.

Gaelira’s own oral efforts faltered as she watched her husband being sucked off by Syllana’s head. An answer to a terrible question rolling about in her head fluttered just out of reach, but it was enough to dull the enthusiasm of her own sucking. Irae noticed her sudden hesitation, her grin widening. “Yes, where did that cock come from?” she asked. “It’s certainly a fresh harvest. And…” She looked from the prick in Gaelira’s mouth down to the one in Syllana’s. “Is that a familial resemblance I detect?”

Gaelira gagged hard, fought to yank her head back and push her son’s severed cock from her mouth. Irae laughed. “What’s the matter? You created that slab inside your body. What’s the harm in letting it come back for a visit?” Her face darkened. “Besides, it’s not like you really have a choice.”

King Tarron came into his daughter’s mouth as Queen Gaelira puked over his son’s prick. Two drastically different reactions, but they both greatly amused the drow invaders. Istonel pulled the prince’s dick out of Gaelira’s sputtering mouth, frowning. “Not very queenly of you, is it?” he grumbled, moving back from her bound form. The others were finished with her ass so he stepped around and wedged the soggy prick up her cum-leaking asshole, leaving it stuffed there. Gaelira wailed with horror as she felt the warm severed cock wiggling within the cramped orifice.

The king stood, sticky cock drooping again, with his eyes closed, breathing deeply and shuddering out pathetic sobs. The queen was slumped in her bondage, eyes dazed from the depraved horrors she’d been witness and victim to. Irae thought of Nimor’s comment from the previous day, regarding the fragility of elven egos. She had hoped the two leaders would provide more entertainment, but it seemed they were nothing more than overconfident weaklings, crumbling in the face of their sudden lack of power. “Well, you’ve both been lovely hosts,” she told them. “But we still have lots of work to do. Your pathetic race isn’t going to extinguish itself, after all.” She gave the signal to commence the queen’s execution. “Don’t fear, your highness… your line won’t end today. We’ll be taking both of these cumrags with us when we go. I expect we’ll breed heirs aplenty from even their stubborn, sun-cursed elf-wombs before they die.”

Koszar stepped onto the stage, thrilled at the opportunity to take part in the death of another high profile elf woman. He stepped in front of Gaelira and gave her a mocking nod. “Your highness,” he hissed. “It’s quite the honor.” His amused face turned harsh as he extended a hand towards her, unleashing a devastating blast of electricity into the queen’s bound form. Her muscles snapped tense, body quivering as a strangled scream crept up her throat. Her eyes bulged, both from the pain as well as the horror that the shocks were making her son’s severed cock go wild inside her ass. The blast cut off only seconds after it began, but even the short session of electrocution was enough to leave Gaelira’s body twitching and glistening with sweat. She slumped in her bindings, gasping for air.

King Tarron watched his wife’s extended execution with sorrow as his dead daughter’s lips smacked and slurped at his balls, his cock already returning to a state of excitement. He was utterly powerless. He could not save his beloved, he could not save his two remaining children, he couldn’t even save himself from enjoying the pleasant touch of Syllana’s mouth on his genitals. He tried to focus his hatred on the drow for their actions, but he found it difficult to find any to spare. He hated his own weakness far too much in that moment.

Koszar continued to electrocute Gaelira, increasing the length of time he prolonged the attack by a few seconds each time. Her vibrant red hair became frizzy, steam wafting from her sweaty skin as her muscles jerked against her will. Her screams soon became weak groans as her strength was sapped away, leaving her slumping in the frame, barely alive, fluttering in and out of consciousness. He gave her another quick zap before looking to Irae to confirm the queen was ready for the next stage of her execution. Irae nodded that she was before motioning for Nimor to begin the process.

Nimor flicked out a small dagger, twirling it in his hand as he approached Queen Gaelira from behind. He brought the dagger up, angling the blade towards the base of her neck. The woman released a weak groan of pain as he pushed the weapon into her flesh, cutting only as deep as he needed to. He traced a bloody line downwards, following the length of her spine down to the crack of her ass. From there, his work began more intricate. He kept his hand steady as Pharin and Gashna held her buttocks apart so he could carve down the middle of her ass, notching out the area of her cock-stuffed asshole. Reaching the bottom of her cheeks, he worked a gruesome seam down the inside of one leg before creating its twin along her opposite leg. He circled around her ankles before working his way back up the outer sides of her legs, up across her hips and ribs until he reached her armpits. He circled each of her shoulders before returning to the original point he’d made on the back of her neck.

The audience was treated to Gaelira’s rising horror and pain as Nimor began the slow, meticulous task of peeling the skin away from her back. It was a slow process, with his blade angled inwards to slice through the connective tissue attaching the skin to muscles. But the queen was not the first woman he’d performed such a task on. His skills were great enough that he had no trouble ensuring that the length of skin was flawless upon its removal, with Gaelira only slightly closer to death than she’d been at the start. When he finished, he pulled the skin upwards, displaying it before him as he stepped around the bound woman to show the cheering crowd. He turned to show the queen what her backside looked like now that it was no longer attached to her, grinning as her face managed to grow even paler at the sight. He moved to a drying rack, clipping the hide to it where it could properly dry.

With her back nothing but raw muscle and exposed bone, Nimor turned his attention to the queen’s front side. He made a few more strategic cuts in her skin to make his job easier and then began to unfurl the soft tissue. Her flawless breasts became bloody muscle, tipped with the alien-like flower petals that were her milk ducts. He snipped a hole at her belly button to avoid any unwanted tearing before finishing the upper half of her body. Ducking under the loose curtain of skin, he moved between her legs and traced a painful cut around the circumference of her labial folds, laughing as her agony caused her to piss herself. He avoided the majority of the warm spray as he finished his terrible work and slid out from under the skin, continuing to tug at it gently as he worked his way down her trembling legs. In the end, Queen Gaelira’s natural beauty only remained in her pain-stricken face. The rest of her was now a gruesome abomination, alluring to only the most devious of minds.

Even as King Tarron wept for his wife’s suffering, he leaked his cum over his dead daughter’s lustful face. And still, her urgent tongue would not stop teasing him.

Gaelira’s front skin was draped beside her back skin. After drying and curing, they would make excellent tapestries, a macabre trophy from the drow victory over the elves. The queen’s head swayed unsteadily; eyes unfocused as each gentle breeze brought her burning pain as it washed over her raw nerve endings. She was barely conscious, close to death. Koszar stepped in front of her again, fingertips already crackling with fresh electricity. He unleashed the devastating volley into Gaelira’s body, delighting in the sight of her exposed muscles flexing and twitching. This time, he did not relent, pouring the energy into her. The blood clinging to her muscles steamed away. The fat in her skinned tits boiled, squirting in hot streams from her fleshless nipples. The prince’s severed prick wiggled excitedly in her ass, adding that special sliver of humiliation right up until her very end.

As the queen’s lively gyrations became involuntary spasms, Irae pulled Syllana’s head away from Tarron’s crotch. The older elf was forced onto his knees and bent forward. Ilmdus was ready with his axe, resuming his role as executioner. He swung his weapon down hard and fast, lopping the king’s head from his shoulders. His body jerked and sprang about, dancing on the stage floor as his rigid cock throbbed, spewing one final load of unwanted jizz across the wood. Crouching beside the twitching body, Irae guided Syllana’s head to the sticky pool of cum and giggled as she happily lapped it up, swallowing it down and leaking it out of her esophagus. Gaelira was a steaming, inert corpse by the time Syllana finished cleaning her father’s final deposit.

With the king and queen dead, Irae ordered the remaining guards and soldiers left alive in the crowd back onto the stage. As the women were extricated from their brutal gang-rapes, she turned her attention to Elincia and Elasha. The twins were a stunning pair. And after the horrors they’d both witnessed and endured, she suspected they were thoroughly prepped to become obedient slaves for her empire. Killing them would bring some satisfaction, but she felt it would be even more entertaining to keep them around for a while, allow them to see what was to become of the rest of their realm, the rest of their people. She knelt down before them. “The queen is dead,” she whispered with sadistic glee to one of them, which turned out to be Elincia. “Long live the queen.”

As beautiful as they were, however, something bothered Irae… there was one aspect they lacked that demanded changing. Their golden locks were pretty enough, but she rather preferred the fiery tufts of hair Gaelira and Syllana possessed. What what she understood, the Queen of the elves traditionally always had crimson hair that burned like the sun. It was an easy problem to solve.

Ordering the sisters over to their mother’s carcass, Irae drew her own blade. She slashed open Gaelira’s belly, unleashing a gush of blood and tangled innards. Elasha was brought over first, bent over in front of her mother with a cock still pumping away in her gooey snatch. Irae guided the sobbing girl’s head into the gaping split in Gaelira’s gut, stuffing her inside. Her hands slid in along with Elasha’s head, smearing and squeezing blood into her hair, staining the follicles. When she was satisfied with the gruesome dye job, she motioned for Elasha to be pulled back and beckoned Elincia forward for a similar treatment. Both young women were left with their faces smeared with their mother’s blood, their hair stained a shade of red not too dissimilar from the locks growing from Gaelira and Syllana. A simple spell was all that was required to make the color change permanent.

The underlings were back on stage, a few of their forceful lovers brought along for the festivities. There were only four left, each of them forced onto their hands and knees in a line. Amedee Shalen, Lenna Glynnelis, Celaena Bryna, and the disgraced royal bodyguard, Chamylla Perlana. All four women were treated to a thick cock up their ass, pumping away into their loosened holes as Ilmdus moved into position. The elves were meaningless, just more fodder for the piles, undeserving of prolonged torture or a slow death. With a decisive chop, Amedee’s head went flying, rolling its way off the edge of the stage and back into the crowd where it was promptly scooped up and stuffed with cock. As her anal rapist rode out Amedee’s death spasms, Ilmdus stepped forward and lined up his next blow. Another meaty thud and Lenna’s head followed after Amedee’s.

Chamylla listened to her fellow elves dying, listened to the sobs of the princesses. Her life was over, that much was obvious, but a tickle of strength rolled back into her at the very end. She heard Celaena’s sobs end with a thunk and knew her time was rapidly diminishing. She waited, finding a calm patience as she came to a firm decision. She ignored the other sounds, listened for the swish of the oncoming axe blade. She pulled her head back suddenly, feeling the breeze of the sharp blade across her face as it embedded itself uselessly into the stage floor. Her sudden resistance caught the executioner and her rapist off guard. Chamylla used that – and her impressive muscles – to her advantage. She bucked back, knocking the man behind her out of her throbbing asshole, and sprang to her feet. The sisters were separated again. She wouldn’t have time to reach both of them, of that she was certain, so she went for Elincia, the closer of the two.

The bodyguard’s fist knocked several of Elincia’s current abuser’s teeth loose and flattened his nose. She tugged the princess into her arms, stumbling with her back towards the castle. The unexpectedness of her insane escape attempt gave her a little time. She used it for everything it was worth, putting several feet of distance between them and the drow before shoving Elincia forward. “Go!” Chamylla yelled. “Don’t stop! Don’t look back!”

Elincia was a wide-eyed, traumatized wreck, but she had enough of her mind left to obey Chamylla. She took off, fleeing back into the castle that had been her home all her life. The bodyguard doubted her efforts would do the girl much good in the long run, but she felt better having done something. That satisfaction faded as the drow soldiers caught up to her, mercilessly slashing and stabbing into her powerful flesh with their swords. She fought back against them, to the best of her ability. Even managed to land a few crippling blows to one or two of the soldiers. But even with her impressive strength, she could not survive long. Her guts spilling out of her, breasts slashed apart, one arm hanging loosely from mostly severed flesh, Chamylla collapsed to her knees, wheezing and gurgling as blood spilled from her lips. Ilmdus approached her, stepped behind her, readied his axe, and let swing. The bodyguard’s head shot into the air, riding a geyser of blood, as the rest of her flopped forward onto the stage.

A few soldiers moved to chase the escaped princess into the castle but Irae called them off. “Don’t fret,” she told them with a cruel smile. “Let her cower in there for a time. It will make it all the more amusing when we finally find her.” She reached out with her necromancy, already preparing to turn Gaelira into yet another trophy for her collecton, but smiled when she felt the signature of old, old dead nearby… elves that had been ancient when the drow that were first cast down into the darkness. The royal crypts beneath the palace contained an unbroken line of rulers from ancient times, leading from the first daughters of Corona, to those who had banished the drow, to Gaelira’s parents… right down to the princess Elincia, now running towards the palace and those crypts.

Grinning to herself, she began to raise every male ancestor she could find to a tortured half-life of undeath, her magic whispering to seek out their last free relative. “You will wish you had stayed, princess,” Irae said with a cruel smile.


	8. The Refugees

This is an especially brutal story, filled with torture, rape, and snuff. Be sure this is a thing you want to read before continuing. 

Soleila was no doubt the heart of the elven kingdom, but it did not make up the entirety of the race. There were other towns of varying sizes to be invaded and obliterated, not to mention the numerous elves who’d managed to flee the capital city in a fleet-footed panic. There was still much work to be done, and it was such gloriously satisfying work. Extermination was the primary goal, but Irae wasn’t satisfied to simply kill and rape the elf scum. She wanted them utterly broken along the way, devastated beyond the point of return. Her goddess demanded such levels of revenge for what the elves had done to her kind so many years ago. Irae’s twisted mind didn’t have to ponder for long to come up with an appropriate means of hunting and dealing with the remaining patches of elven life out in the world. She had the raw resources she required and the raw power to make good use of them.

But in order to do what she planned, Irae needed to conduct a proper ritual. She was glad to procure Axilya Trahana, the virgin priestess who’d been spared due to the value of her purity. The girl had assumed that purity would be auctioned off to the highest bidder, and that had been one possibility, but Irae had an even more important use for her unsullied twat. With a small regiment of soldiers following along, Irae forced the young priestess back into the devastated temple. The place had been even further defiled since she’d been dragged away. A few of the dead priestess’s bodies had been removed, dragged off for who knew what sort of wicked acts, but there were still plenty of corpses draped around, including Axilya’s sister – Ulesse – still draped over the holy fountain with her bare ass propped into the air.

Irae directed the soldiers sent to guard her to take Axilya and chain her by her wrists and ankles, stretched taut before the defiled and destroyed statue of her goddess – the charred and headless corpse of Ahrendue still draped there. While the soldiers got to work stringing up the sobbing virgin, Irae stepped in front of the burnt carcass. The woman was long dead, flies buzzing and crawling across her roasted meat, but she still had her uses. Procuring a small dagger from the sheath on her hip, Irae carefully sliced a line up Ahrendue’s belly. Her organs were withered and blackened, both from the intense heat that had cooked her as well as the unholy defilement her body had undergone during the process. Irae scooped out the inky slop and chucked it on the floor, stretching an arm into the cavernous space left behind, up under the High Priestess’s ribcage. A few hard tugs and Irae pulled her prize free. The tainted and blackened heart of a pious woman. She admired the trophy proudly, resisting the urge to lean in and give it a lick. The dark magic potential contained within the tainted organ was strong enough that it could tear her apart if she wasn’t careful.

Irae turned to see that Axilya had been stretched into an X-pose before the statue, chains digging firmly into her soft flesh. The soldiers were pacing in front of her, leering at her and reaching out to paw at her flesh. Irae snapped at them, ordering them back. “This morsel is not meant for fucking,” she growled. “She’s much more important than that.” She stepped in front of the sobbing young thing, giving her a wicked grin. “Doesn’t that just tickle your elven ego? To know that, among all of your priestess sisters, you are the only one of them that truly matters? Because without you, all of the dead out there in the city, would stay dead. Rot away into a piles of pus and bones. But thanks to you, they’re going to get to come back. Some of them, at least.” She chuckled darkly. “Of course, they’ll be coming back nothing like who they were when they died. They’ll be coming back angry and bitter and oh so aroused, desperate to seek out those they’ll believe are responsible for their deaths. The drow will be spared from their cruel intents. We were merely the instrument of their destruction, after all. But their fellow elves, those are the ones that truly doomed them. They’re the ones who so urgently need to be punished.” She let her words sink into Axilya for a few moments, basking in the horror she saw in the young woman’s eyes. “And to think, none of this would have been possible if you’d simply chosen to not be a priestess, or if you’d decided to shirk your duties even once and spread those stunning legs of yours for some lover.” She rolled her eyes. “And they say virgins are too innocent to ever have something truly terrible happen to them…”

Axilya shook her head as Irae crept closer to her. She squeezed her tear-leaking eyes tightly and blubbered out prayers to her goddess, desperate for any help she could get. But there was no help to be had. Irae grabbed hold of her by the jaw, forcing her mouth open and guiding Ahrendue’s blackened heart to her lips. The taste of charred muscle tissue flowed across her tongue, along with something that started her shivering, mind collapsing into a pit of angry depression. The feelings worsened as the heart was stuffed into her mouth. Irae clamped a hand over her lips and pinched her nose shot, stealing away her ability to spit the unwanted object out. Axilya’s survival instincts worked alongside Irae’s evil intentions, forcing her to swallow down the lump of corrupted organ. Her throat bulged as Ahrendue’s heart made its way down into her gut. It hit her stomach like a molten wad of lead. As Irae removed her hands from the young elf’s face, Axilya let out a horrendous howl of agony.

The virgin priestess shuddered in her restraints as the corruption of Ahrendue’s heart attacked her innate purity. Her slender belly undulated, swelling, smoking, and blistering where her stomach was. Crimson tears dribbled from her eyes, running down the sides of her nose, as her bulging eyes filled with blood. She let out a fresh scream – mostly pain but with a tinge of horrified release – as the swelling, fist-sized lump protruding from her gut exploded, flinging blood and a few chunks of charred stomach over the floor. Ahrendue’s heart swelled and pulsed as it pushed free from Axilya’s belly, already double the size it had been when it had entered the girl. Purple veins slithered from the edges of the tear in her gut, creeping across her pale flesh, creating a root system for the dark heart-flower blooming from the virgin’s body.

The vein-roots curled over Axilya’s trembling buttocks and around her thighs, creeping over the folds of her untouched sex. They slithered their way up to cradle her perky tits and circle her throbbing nipples. They tickled along her armpits and followed the curve of her throat up around the edges of her jaw. Axilya’s head rolled back, mouth gaping open, emitting an unending scream as her blood-red eyes fixed on the ceiling above. The orifices of her head became bubbling fountains of hot blood that washed over her restrained form, feeding the heart-flower with her pure essence so it could corrupt that purity and grow larger, more powerful. Irae let out a gasp of delight as the heart-flower blossomed before her after swelling to the size of pumpkin. She arched her back and tilted her face towards the gruesomely beautiful creation, absorbing the radiance of necrotic energy it permeated the surrounding air with.

Axilya would go on living until Irae decided to severe her connection with the heart-flower, an ever replenishing fountain of dark power to be drawn from. Irae drank a little too deeply of the power, its flavor easily the most addictive thing she’d ever sampled. Groaning, she stumbled back, hands clutching at herself as the heat of pent up energy threatened to consume her. She turned to the small party of soldiers who’d accompanied her to the temple. They’d been hopeful to get to defile the priestess, disappointed that it had not been allowed. Supercharged with energy, Irae didn’t think twice about rewarding them for their obedience with her own flesh. She tugged her skimpy clothing away and pulled the nearest soldier to the floor, mounting his already firm cock in moments. She beckoned the others closer, gripping their shafts and twisting her head from side to side to suck them off. Her eyes rolled back with delight as one of the soldiers dared to wedge his prick up her ass. Her spirited gyrations and the energy sapping experience of numerous orgasms allowed Irae to burn off the excess of dark essence she’d taken into herself. When she was half-certain her skeleton wasn’t about to rip itself free from her skinsuit and go off frolicking on its own, she slowed her movements. The cocks sheathed in her cunt, ass, and throat still felt nice, and she did not mind giving the soldiers something to talk about with their fellow men later. But she returned her mind to the business she’d brought Axilya to the temple to conduct.

With her necromantic abilities multiplied by the heart-flower, Irae had no trouble extending her reanimating energies out into the sacked city. She touched upon every corpse littering the streets, getting a sense of each and every one of them. Not just the state of their bodies, but who they’d been in life. For her purposes, the bodies needed to be relatively intact, but beyond that, she sought out corpses that provided a slice of irony to their reanimation and new purpose. She focused primarily on the men, especially any relatives of elven women who’d managed to escape the onslaught. Each specimen she deemed worthy of a new, corrupted life, she brought back, leaving them with only resentment that they’d had to die while other elves had lived, amplifying and corrupting whatever lust they felt. Their minds mostly varied from dullard to psychotically deranged, but she stumbled upon a few specimens who’d been far from nice before their untimely demises. Those she brought back with mostly intact psyches so that they could lead the undead horde stirring into unholy life throughout the city.

When it came to searching out leaders for the undead ranks, Irae sought out someone in particular, a wickedly tasty treat Nimor had told her about. Keya Nerilamin, the long suffering underling who’d leapt at the chance to rape, torture, and murder her wicked employer, was the sort of twisted nymph Irae could have seen herself getting along with quite well, if they’d not been born into different races. She did not besmirch Nimor for executing the young woman. Whether or not she respected Keya’s desire for revenge or not, Irae would have done the deed herself if she’d been in the assassin’s place. But bringing her back to continue to seek some form of twisted revenge for the beleaguered station she’d been forced into within her kingdom was too perfect a prospect to ignore.

Irae’s second choice of undead general was Raibyn Wysageiros – a man who’d been far from wicked in life. On the contrary, he’d been a proud, noble, and quite protective husband and father. When the drow had come calling, he’d bravely sacrificed himself, buying his wife and two daughters the time needed to escape the city before things had gotten much worse. His body had surprisingly not been sliced up too terribly. Irae restored him to life, washing away the love and selflessness he’d possessed and replacing it with hatred for his family. His murky eyes blinked slowly before filling with wicked purpose, determined to hunt down the women he’d given his life for and punish them for the sacrifice they’d forced him to make.

The third and final undead general was an easy choice. King Tarron had done everything he could for his people, given the circumstances and swiftness of his kingdom’s invasion. Beyond that, Irae was furious that they’d still not managed to locate Elincia. It was clear at this point that the young princess had found some means of escaping the castle. If anyone could track her down, it was likely her father. The removal of Tarron’s head from his body was a mild frustration. She’d had his severed head bound to his chest, creating a macabre sight out of the corpse, even the more disturbing when the body jerked and returned to life. Irae grinned as she imagined the reaction he would get from whatever unlucky elf he managed to hunt down, their noble king reduced to a twisted, undead monstrosity intent on raping and slaughtering the very people he’d sworn to defend.

By the time she finished her mass resurrection, the soldiers were thoroughly spent, half of them lying in unconscious heaps around her. She rolled her eyes as she pried her cum-gooey cunt off of the soft prick nestled inside her. “Men…” she muttered, strutting her way towards the temple’s entrance, soaking up a little more of the dark energy pulsing from Axilya’s corrupted form to wash away the fatigue she felt. Already, the undead horde was working its way out of the city, tracking those that had fled and converging on the towns that had not yet been touched by the drow invasion.

* * *

**The town of Yesahil**

Tanelia Wysageiros had fled Soleila with her daughters, Rophalin and Keenor. In the rushed panic, she’d had little time to mourn her husband’s death, knowing that without his noble sacrifice, they’d certainly all be dead. They’d made it to the town of Yesahil knowing full well that it was not nearly far enough from the capital city to ensure their safety, especially if the rumors of the city’s fall were true. But Tanelia had not known where else to go. Yesahil was a small town, perhaps small enough to go unnoticed for a little while. It certainly offered no strategic value and it did not have much in the way of victims to slaughter. The one thing that it did have, the sole reason she’d rushed her terrified children to the border of the town, was her husband’s brother, Erlareo.

She’d not seen the man in years. It had been no secret that Erlareo had lusted after her and it had caused a divide between him and his brother. But now, with Raibyn dead and the drow forces seemingly intent on slaughtering every elven life they came across, it made little sense to hold on to old grudges and awkwardness. The news had shocked Erlareo and he’d welcomed Tanelia and her daughters into his home, already putting together plans to escape further from Soleila. But those plans, even hastily constructed, took time too precious to be spared. And while the town of Yesahil offered little of apparent value, it became a primary target for the advancing wave of undead elves spreading out from Soleila for the very reason that Tanelia had chosen it.

The thudding against the front door of Erlareo’s home caused its occupants to jump. Erlareo strode across the room, hopeful that it was the delivery of the much needed supplies they required to head out and further their escape. Instead, as the door opened, he found himself standing face-to-face with his dead brother. Raibyn’s murky eyes were filled with hatred as he brought the sword he wielded up, slamming the blade through the soft meat under Erlareo’s chin. The living brother’s eyes bulged as sharp steel skewered his brain and crunched through the roof of his skull. From further in the house, Tanelia let loose with a horrified scream as she witnessed both the murder and the murderer. She rushed to gather her daughters and flee from the back of the house only to find both young women being herded back towards her by the pack of dead elves who’d broken in through the back of the house.

The stench of decay and corruption filled the small home as the three elven women were corralled and contained. Raibyn drew his sword free from his brother’s head and shoved the body aside, stepping into the house and moving towards the family he’d given his life for. In the moment he’d charged into the oncoming drow forces, he’d thought only of protecting them. Now, he saw that sacrifice in a new, twisted light. Hadn’t Tanelia manipulated him into giving his life for them? Why else would she have run straight to his brother? The pair had likely been fucking behind his back for who knew how long. Were his daughters even his daughters? And did it truly matter now? They were, each of them, spoiled cunts. But they are at least attractive spoiled cunts. Looking Rophalin and Keenor over with undead eyes, he saw them in a way he’d never been capable of. Rophalin looked more like him, with her dark hair and golden eyes, only with a distinctively feminine form. Her breasts were large and plump, hips wide with a stunningly smackable rump and full lips crafted by the gods for sucking cock. Keenor was almost the spitting image of her mother, light brown hair, mossy green eyes, same slender physique and small breasts. She was petite in frame, with a pixie-like appearance that made her seem even younger than she was.

With the voluptuous figure of his eldest daughter before him, Raibyn had no desire to resist the urges flowing through his reanimated flesh. He pulled Rophalin into his arms, ignoring the frightened screams of his children and the desperate pleading of his wife. He threw Rophalin to the floor and dropped onto her, tearing open her top to allow her huge tits to jiggle into view. His mouth fell over her chest, slurping at her nipples as he tore away at her remaining clothing. His fingers tangled into her panties before tearing the garment away, reaching back to free his aching erection. The tearful pleas pouring from Rophalin’s full lips, begging her daddy to stop, only made his prick swell harder. He lined himself up with her dry, helpless hole and rammed inwards, skewering her soft cunt on his rigid meat.

Raibyn had no interest in sharing either of his daughters. Not while they still drew breath, at least. His wife was a different case. In his corrupted mind, she’d sent him off to his death in order to fuck another man. He’d come with plenty of willing men under his command. He signaled for them to have whatever fun they liked with Tanelia, as long as she was left alive by the time he wished to have his turn with her. He watched with glee as several of the undead elves tore through her clothing and pulled her struggling form into her clutches. They stuffed Tanelia’s holes with their pricks, making sure she had a clear view of what was being done to her eldest daughter the whole time. The elf matron fought against her abusers, but she wasn’t nearly strong enough to beat them back, sobbing as her cunt and ass were vigorously raped, gagging around the occasional cock that sheathed its way down her throat.

Raibyn dragged his bloated tongue across Rophalin’s cheeks, lapping up the salty tears she was leaking. He forced a kiss onto her, deeper than any he’d have dared give her if he still possessed a pulse. His hands groped at her pliant breasts as his hips humped steadily between her kicking legs. His balls swelled with dead cum, incapable of impregnating anything but still more than capable of debasing and disgracing whatever victim he chose to play with. With the stamina of the undead backing him, Raibyn plunged his thick shaft into his daughter’s clenching snatch and painted the walls of her pussy with his creamy load. He watched a good portion of her soul shatter as she was forced to endure her father emptying himself into her. Pulling free from her gaping cunt, Raibyn returned to his feet, watching his spunk dribble out of her and onto the floor. Chuckling and stiff again already, he leaned down and gripped a fistful of Rophalin’s dark hair, tugging her up onto her knees before him.

When Rophalin refused to part those perfect cocksucking lips for him, Raibyn gave her a swift backhand across the face that left her cheek bruised and her brain dazed. Forcing her mouth open, he pushed his way into the damp passage. She gagged on him before he even reached the back of her mouth. As he prodded against the entrance to her throat, she retched hard, bringing up a soupy deposit over his cock and balls. Snarling with annoyance, Raibyn grabbed his daughter by the back of her head and forced her face into his soiled crotch. She gagged violently around his shaft as it curved down her throat. Her eyes bulged, arching up to stare up at her father’s cruel face, silently begging some part of him to realize how wrong his actions were. Raibyn knew exactly how evil face-fucking his daughter was. It made the experience all the more enjoyable. He offered her no mercy, keeping her face pulled against him, trapping her there as she flailed and twisted before him.

With a commanding growl, Raibyn ensured that Tanelia and Keenor got a clear view of what he was doing to Rophalin. Tanelia pled with him urgently as she watched her eldest daughter’s face turning a deep shade of red, thick bubbles of drool leaking from her stretched lips as her frantic struggles shifted into uncoordinated flopping. The sight of the twisted monstrosity that had once been such a loving husband and father turned into a perverted, murderous beast devastated both mother and daughter. Rophalin was beyond dwelling on the horror of what her father had become. Her oxygen-starved brain only had enough strength to strain to go on living, a fight it was rapidly losing. The young elf’s arms slumped at her sides, violent jerks rolling through her, bouncing her plump tits against the fronts of her father’s legs, as her eyes rolled back fully. Raibyn grunted and came down his daughter’s throat as the delightful tingles of her death rattle rolled across his throbbing shaft. He worked her locked up throat back down the length of his prick, popping free and letting her loose head roll back. Her mouth hung open awkwardly, leaking drool and jizz over her chin. With a laugh, he let Rophalin’s body go, watching as she fell backwards, thudding to the floor with her legs bent under her and her pissing crotch tilted into the air.

Raibyn set a pack of rabid undead elven men loose on his eldest daughter’s corpse, no longer interested in her now that he’d snuffed the life out of her. He turned to Keenor, his baby girl. She still looked so youthful despite being old enough – just barely – to be regarded as an adult in elven society. He ordered the elves holding her to force her to stand. Her legs were shaking so badly they had to maintain a firm grip on her to keep her upright. “Strip,” he growled at her. She only sobbed harder. Snarling with annoyance, he made his underlings do it for her, stroking his erection as her subtle curves and tight form was exposed to him. Tanelia was back to screaming and begging. With a snap of his fingers, an undead cock gagged her. He stepped up to his naked, trembling daughter, dragging the tip of his prick across her slender belly as he reached down and hooked a pair of fingers into her pussy. He leaned in and forced a deep kiss onto her slender lips, tongue slithering into her mouth as he pumped his digits into her hole, forcing her body to respond and lubricate the passage against her will.

Raibyn prodded his youngest daughter’s hymen, eyeing the winces that flinched over her face each time he did. Adjusting the angle of his fingers, he rammed deeper into Keenor’s cunt, piercing her virginity. After giving his digits a couple more wiggles inside her sex, he pried them free and forced her to taste the blend of her blood and cunt honey. She sobbed and gagged around his fingers. Before he forced the girl to puke, he pulled the fingers free and wiped them off on her hair. Gripping the back of her neck, Raibyn forced Keenor down onto her knees before bending her over. He moved in behind her, keeping her on her hands and knees as he knelt and pried her perky buttocks apart. Spitting into the crack, he smeared his saliva across her sphincter before jabbing his thumb into the impossibly tight orifice. He slickened his daughter’s asshole with more of his spit before lathering his cock in more of it, dragging out the process of her anal rape to further torment her. When he finally felt they were both ready, he guided the head of his erection to the slickened hole and pressed into her.

Keenor’s high-pitched shriek as her asshole was broken open by her father’s thick cock filled the house and stirred Tanelia into fresh sobs. The mother was also kneeling, only a few feet away, with an equally large cock pumping into her jizz-greased snatch from behind. She reached out for her youngest daughter, straining to pull her away from her psychotic, undead father. She no longer recognized the twisted abomination as the man she’d loved so much, cursing the horrid drow monsters for turning him into such a thing. Raibyn stared openly at her, drinking in her hatred and horror and using it to fuel his thrusts into Keenor’s clenched ass. Knowing that she was watching her daughter’s ass-fucking, he grabbed hold of Keenor by the hair and made sure she was looking right back at her mother. Then he slid his arm lower, hooking his forearm around her throat and pulling back. Keenor’s mouth gaped open, eyes widening as her throat was crushed closed. She buked wildly, driving her petite ass against her father’s prick. Grinning, Raibyn enjoyed the spirited movements of his daughter’s body against him as he choked her with unrelenting cruelty.

Tugging back harder on Keenor’s throat, Raibyn lifted his daughter’s upper body upwards. Her hands flailed about blindly for a few moments before coming up to try and pull her father’s forearm away. Her nails dug into his cold, dead flesh, causing only the most minimal amount of pain in his withered nerve endings. He humped harder into her aching rear, putting enough force into his thrusts to make even her minimal tits jump and jiggle. Tanelia sobbed pitifully as she watched her remaining daughter being slowly choked to death. She begged for Raibyn to take her instead, calling out in hopes that some small sliver of the man she’d known still existed and could be reached. Raibyn took pleasure from her pathetic efforts, but did not relent in the slightest. When Keenor’s struggles faded away, he kept his hold on her firm for another minute or so. Then he adjusted his hold on her and snapped her neck with cold efficiency, letting her faceplant back to the floor in a dead heap. Her warm piss blasted across his balls as he fired off a few sticky wads of cum into her bowels before pulling free to squirt the remainder of his load down her backside.

Raibyn ordered his undead underlings to release his wife. He watched as she scrambled first to Keenor’s corpse and then Rophalin’s, sobbing and shaking at them, urging them to come back to life, resisting the notion that her children were truly gone for good. Raibyn let her fall deeper and deeper into hysterics as he prepared the means of her execution. When the noose was ready, he pulled Tanelia up onto her feet. She turned into him, clinging to him, begging him to come to his senses even as he slipped the noose over her head and cinched it tight against her throat. A pair of undead elves were ready on the other end of the rope to hoist the hysterical mother into the air. Her legs kicked about wildly, hands coming up to tug at the noose, but her fate was already thoroughly sealed. Raibyn moved in behind his flailing wife’s body and worked his way up her jizz-lubed asshole, gripping her hips and fucking her roughly as she hung before him. He ordered the bodies of his daughters to be brought over and piled beneath Tanelia, giving her a clear view of the corpses as her hanging progressed.

With his wife’s brain degraded from oxygen deprivation, Raibyn curled an arm around her and began to stimulate her clit. He fucked her ass swiftly as he forced pleasure through her loins, her bulging, tear-glazed eyes fixed on the lifeless husks of her two daughters. The undead husband felt glee in his unbeating heart as he felt Tanelia shuddered through a powerful climax, her cunt honey drizzling down her legs and sprinkling across Rophalin and Keenor. He laughed, mocking her for getting off over the bodies of her children. Peeking around, he could see Tanelia still had enough consciousness left to be horrified and humiliated by the action she’d been forced to perform. Raibyn savored the sight of it, continuing to pump into his wife’s bowels as her struggles faltered, her urgent gurgling turning into wet clicks as the noose crushed her windpipe shut completely. When she finally hung limply, spraying her hot urine over the corpses beneath her, he blasted her loosened asshole with one last spurt of jizz before pulling free.

With his personal quest of twisted revenge concluded, Raibyn ordered the house and the bodies within to be set ablaze while he left to ensure the rest of the little town’s occupants were having an equally bad final night of their lives.

* * *

**The town of Nythnebelle**

The town was less a town and more a small ring of buildings surrounding a sacred forest. The elves had maintained a lengthy friendship with the dryads that lived within the forest, building up around the woodlands to offer them a layer of protection as well as a line of communication with the outside world. Velatha Valfir had hoped to find some reserve of military forces there. Not a group large enough to fight off the drow, but at least one capable of keeping her and the handful of other refugees she’d met outside Soleila safe as they escaped further from the city. Instead, she’d found the handful of soldiers responsible for guarding the forest thoroughly sloshed on dryad wine, laughing off the warnings she and the others arrived with as some kind of joke.

Velatha hadn’t survived the attack on the city by wasting time. One look at the so-called soldiers was all she needed to know that they would be no help. The other refugees – terrified beyond their limits – continued to plead with the inebriated men and women, urging them to take the threat seriously. While they wasted their time with that endeavor, Velatha slipped out of the crowded pub and started off on her own. She figured it might even be for the best. It would be much easier keeping a low profile and sneaking away from any potential danger on her own. She wished the others good luck and hurried out into the night on her own, only the vaguest sense of where she was heading.

She’d barely made it out of the pub when she spotted an awkward silhouette of a figure approaching from out of the shadows. A scream caught in her throat as details of the figure came into focus. The man had no head, but it didn’t seem to keep him from walking. Her wide eyes shifted to the man’s chest, where his severed head had been strapped down. Velatha’s face went pale with shock as she recognized the features glaring up at her. “K-king Tarron?” she gasped. “Dear goddess, what have they done to – “

The reanimated king lashed out with his sword, catching Velatha across the side of her right cheek and slicing cleanly through her head. The young elf’s lithe limbs locked up, tears glistening in her eyes as the life flickered from them. The upper half of her head rolled back as her lower jaw hung slack, tongue flopping about through the geyser of blood squirting free from the gruesome stump left behind. Her body stumbled awkwardly from side to side before dropping back, landing on the severed portion of her head as her legs kicked about at the air and dug into the dirt. King Tarron grinned at the dead elf, freeing his erection as he lowered his headless body down over Velatha’s twitching corpse. He bared her damp cunt and plunged into her still warm folds, ushering the undead elven forces following along behind him to head into the pub and secure the location, making sure to point out that he wanted the elves within kept alive until he could decide their fates for himself.

With the corruption to his mind pushing out every ounce of goodness he’d ever possessed, Tarron found his new role in un-life to be incredible, especially as he plunged roughly into the tight cunt of the woman he’d just murdered so casually. As he savored the convulsions of Velatha’s pussy around his shaft, he found it remarkable to think that he’d fucked only a single woman for such a large portion of his life. With undeath keeping his body firm and his mind slanted into the most perverse of thoughts, he had every intention of making up for lost time. The unique placement of his severed head afforded him an easy means of kissing and sucking at the dead elf’s still tits as he hammered into her snatch, groaning against her drool-coated nipple as he pumped a cold load of cum into her now motionless form.

Pulling free from the half-headless young woman, King Tarron got to his feet and stomped over Velatha’s corpse, no longer paying her any mind. The elf’s fleet-footedness had saved her from a terrible fate back in Soleila and delivered her just as swiftly into an equally terrible fate in Nythnebelle. If she’d been capable of any afterthought in her post-mortem state, she’d have regarded herself as lucky compared to those caught unawares in the pub, where only the men were gifted with deaths as quick as hers had been.

* * *

Penelo Leomys had been having a pretty good night up until the group of hysterical women had shown up. The dryad wine had her tingling in all the right places and she’d already succeeded in out drinking the only other female soldier in the regiment, giving her the freedom of choosing which of the men she wanted to drag back to her bunk for the night. The raving lunatics had mellowed everyone out, although no one took them seriously. A drow invasion large enough to cause the fall of Soleila made no sense. If it wasn’t a practical joke, it was clear that the women had gotten into some kind of drug and were sharing a mass hallucination or something. Penelo did her best to ignore them and tried to focus on flirting her way into her commanding officer’s pants. She wasn’t above putting in a bit of work between the sheets to secure herself the best assignments or even a promotion. It didn’t hurt that he was pretty easy on the eyes.

When the persistent interlopers fell into panicked screaming Penelo could ignore them no longer. Turning her attention to the trio of women, she suddenly found herself wishing she’d paid more attention to them when they’d first barged into the pub. The pack of clearly dead elven men pushing their way into the building made it obvious that the warning the newcomers had shown up with had not been the manifestation of any hallucinogen. Her muscles dulled with alcohol and her mind frozen with shock, Penelo sat frozen as the undead elves carved their way through the men in the pub. She flinched as her commander’s hot blood splattered over her face, staring at the once attractive face now bisected by the blade of a sword that had been brought down over the top of his skull. By the time she regained enough of her senses to reach for her own weapon, she was already being pulled up from the table and roughly stripped, corralled together with the three screaming refugees. Arryn Wynvaris was so thoroughly drunk that even all the noise hadn’t been enough to stir her to consciousness. Her slumped over body went unnoticed by the undead elves for the time being.

Penelo wasn’t given long to wonder why they weren’t being slaughtered like all the others. The door to the pub banged open and the undead troop’s commander stepped through the threshold. The drunken soldier’s reaction to what had become of the elven king wasn’t much different from Velatha’s. As she stared slack-jawed at his decapitated yet still-living form, she couldn’t help but let her eyes drift down to fix on Tarron’s royal prick. It’s so big. The thought just popped into her head and refused to leave, embarrassing her, especially given the direness of the situation she and the others were in. But she couldn’t take her eyes off the thick, throbbing length of flesh protruding from the king’s crotch, mesmerized by the sight of it. It wasn’t until she realized Tarron was standing right in front of her that she managed to snap out of her staring. She tried to pull free from the grip of the dead elves holding her as they dragged her over to a nearby table at the king’s instruction, but her alcohol-soaked muscles weren’t nearly strong enough to earn her even a temporary freedom.

The dead men pulled Penelo over the table, pinning her onto her back, as Tarron followed them over. The young soldier with her spiky red hair and lithe muscles reminded his twisted mind of his wife in some ways, his eldest daughter in others. Snagging hold of her ankles, he hefted Penelo’s legs up into the air and pulled them apart. He moved closer to her, guiding her bare crotch towards his face. His cock’s hunger for female flesh that was not his wife’s was strong, but his tongue yearned for the flavor of fresh pussy. He buried his face between Penelo’s thighs, lapping eagerly across her folds and finding her already damp for him. He chuckled against her wiry pubic hair and dove his tongue deeper into her slit, teasing a steady flow of honey. He slurped at the hard nub of her clitoris, drawing strained whines from her lips as she writhed across the table, horrified and mesmerized by the pleasure wafting up through her loins.

When Penelo curled her legs around Tarron’s back and pulled her sloppy snatch closer against his attentive mouth, the king knew he’d broken the young woman. Pulling back, he licked his lips clean of her fluids and looked to the undead elves holding her down. “This poor thing’s lost her head,” he chuckled, voice raspy from his severed windpipe. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Penelo blinked the tears and sweat from her eyes, panting heavily as she slowly recovered from the onslaught of oral attention. Her eyes shot wide as she saw the sword being lifted over her head. She managed the start of a scream that cut off sharply as the blade cleaved through her throat and lopped her head away from her body. Her limbs shot outwards, spine arching and curling on the table. The king buried his face back into the soldier’s crotch to drink down her death-squirt, the fluids draining from his torn esophagus and leaking over his erection. When he finally pushed her legs away and rose from her jerking corpse, he smiled into the slack, dead face presented to him, giving Penelo’s still lips a deep kiss before turning to admire the rest of the helpless women captured in the pub.

Tarron’s eyes proved to be keener than those of his underlings. Not surprising given that they were little more than brainless lumps of animated flesh eager to fuck and kill and obey his commands. He aimed a finger at the passed out soldier curled onto a bench at the back of the pub. “Dereliction of duty,” he growled. “Prepare her for me.”

Arryn Wynvaris groaned as she was tugged onto her unsteady feet. The elves dragged her over to a table, ignoring her slurred, half-conscious grumblings about being up for whatever fun the handsy gentleman were interested in. Laid face down over the table, Arryn groaned and drifted back into her inebriated slumber quickly. She remained unresponsive, doing nothing more than drooling over the table, as the undead elves worked her pants down to her ankles, leaving her fit ass on display for their corrupted king. Tarron moved up behind Arryn, stroking his member with excitement before he reached her and pried her buttocks apart. From the positioning of his severed head, he had a clear view of her tight anus, making it easy for him to guide his cock to the hole. The way Arryn’s asshole responded to his forceful prodding told Tarron that she was no stranger to taking lovers up her rear. The orifice was well practiced but still retained a pleasant tightness as he sank his stiff inches into her rectum.

As his thrusts quickened, Arryn’s asshole loosened further around him, responding to his penetration positively. She stirred listlessly over the table, a sloppy smile flowing into her face as she lightly pushed back to meet the vigorous pumps of the cock hammering away at her ass. The soldier’s reputation for being an anal whore had made her quite popular amongst the men in her regiment, one of the reasons Penelo had been so thankful that she’d drunken herself into a stupor so early in the night. Arryn did not mind being taken advantage of in her vulnerable state. She rather preferred it. The men got to have their fun with her, she got to enjoy the little slices she was aware for, and there was no expectation for her to do any of the work. As her mind faded in and out of consciousness, she strained to pry her eyes open and look back over her shoulder, wanting to know who was responsible for the thoroughly satisfying anal plundering she was receiving. Her groggy head and blurred vision refused to piece together the monstrosity fucking her for several long moments. As the pieces came into focus, her confusion grew. “My liege?” she groaned, certain that the headless man buggering her could not actually be the king. She let out a slurred laugh. “Time to lay off the wine, Arryn,” she chided herself before starting to settle back into slumber.

Tarron’s face scrunched up with fury. “How dare you ignore your king, you worthless welp,” he snapped loudly. “To think that someone as pathetic as you was given a roll in my kingdom’s army is a disgrace. Now wake up! And truly appreciate the gift of my royal cock up your unworthy ass!”

The king’s booming rasp was enough to pull Arryn out of her drunken stupor. She lifted her head, twisting it back, truly seeing the nightmare pounding into her. Her face went pale, bile rising up her throat. The unease in her stomach grew as she looked around the pub, seeing the bodies of the soldiers she’d been drinking with such a short time before, the reanimated men towering over her, the sobbing refugees being held firmly. The horror of it all had her choking on her puke as she tried to scream through her sick. Her body jerked and twisted, straining to pull free from the undead king’s iron-like grip, desperately wanting his pulsing prick out of her body. Tarron chuckled at her dismay, slamming his hips forward to pin her waist to the table as he released his grip on her arms. Arryn reached out, pulling at the edges of the table, trying to pull herself over and away from the king. Tarron drew his sword – still stained with Velatha’s blood – and pulled it over his head, sharp tip aimed downwards. He let the drunken mess of a soldier go on shrieking and howling for a few moments longer, enjoying the way her ass clamped down around his girth each time she let loose with another scream. Then, he slammed the sword downwards. The tip pierced her temple, sheathing neatly into her skull and skewering her brain before erupting from the opposite side, pinning her head to the table.

Tarron left his sword embedded in Arryn’s head as he grabbed hold of her bucking hips, driving into her with renewed vigor as he rode out her death spasms. When she’d settled into death, his movements slowed before he pulled his aching shaft free of her gaping asshole. He dragged his member through the soft cleft of her buttocks a few times before erupting his seed over the small of Arryn’s back. Gripping the base of his shaft firmly, he milked his cum onto her smooth skin, smacking the head of his dick against her ass cheeks. Blood bubbled from Arryn’s nostrils and drooled from her mouth, dead eyes crossed and tongue flopped onto the tabletop. Occasional twitches crept through her muscles as the king amused himself with her cooling flesh for a little while longer before turning his attention to the remaining living elves in the pub.

Like Velatha, Lazziar Oritris, Mhoryga Liaxalim, and Tinesi Leoxisys had all witnessed terrible atrocities and narrowly escaped being victims themselves during their panicked flight from Soleila. To be snared in the undead hands of elven men who’d fought and died to keep them safe was a soul-crushing betrayal, but even that did not compare to witnessing the risen form of their own murdered king gleefully raping and slaughtering his own people. They cowered and sobbed and begged as Tarron’s murky eyes looked them over like pieces of meat, judging them, deciding how best to have them served. He settled on Mhoryga first, stepping in front of her and giving her plump tits a rough groping. He pushed his face into her cleavage, purring as the soft flesh rubbed his cheeks.

With the scent of her sweat and fear in his nostrils, Tarron tugged Mhoryga along. He lowered himself to the floor and pulled her over him. “Ride me, commoner trash,” he growled. “Please your king and perhaps I’ll reward you with a painless end.”

The panicked elf woman had no choice in the matter. The king’s tight grip pulled her downwards, forcing her to straddle him. She shuddered and whined as her cunt sank over his stiff cock. A quick look at the butchered carcasses surrounding her was the only motivation she needed to start rolling her hips and bouncing atop Tarron’s form. From its disturbing mount against his chest, the king grinned up at her, lifting his hands to go back to grab at her tits. Mhoryga flexed her ass and clenched her pussy around him, continuing to look at all the corpses, using them as effective motivation to give the king what he wanted. Dying was not something she wished for, but it would at least be a release from the nightmare her world had become. If she could reach that point as swiftly and painlessly as possible, it was worth degrading herself for.

Not that anything Mhoryga did would save her from the fate the king had devised for the refugee before even catching up with her. The cruel execution method was not designed with her in mind, simply any refugee. She’d just been the first of the bunch they’d caught up to who’d aroused him enough to earn the brutal end. Tarron let her work herself up into a steady rhythm, enjoying the way her plump tits bounced and jiggled above his face. He gripped her wrists, holding her arms down at her sides, making sure she had nowhere to go and no means of fighting back. No matter how terrified and weak she was, he knew she’d try to put up a fight once she realized what was really happening to her. The stage was set and the victim was ripe. Tarron looked to a pair of his undead minions and gave his command.

The thick wooden box was stained with the blood of previous victims. With a hole in the bottom and a hinge that allowed it to be opened, it easily dropped over Mhoryga’s head. She let out a surprised yell as the darkness pushed in on her, screams intensifying as the box was locked shut, the rim of the hole pressing snuggling around her neck. She got a glimpse of light again as the lid on top of the box was lifted up. She tilted her face back, eyes bulging with horror as the undead elf tipped the bulging, thrashing burlap sac towards her, allowing three bony rats to drop into the box with her. The hatch was snapped shut and locked, trapping the starving rats inside with only the sobbing elf’s head to keep them company. Driven beyond the point of madness with hunger, the rodents wasted on time dining on the hot meal they’d fallen onto.

Tarron grinned as the elf bitch’s cunt clamped down hard around him, from the terror and the pain. He ground his hips upward into the tight orifice, enjoying the unintentional massage her pussy walls provided him. Within the box, Mhoryga’s existence become a bloody hell. One rat remained perched on top of her head, gnashing teeth tearing away clumps of her hair and ripping up ragged lengths of her scalp. The second had slipped down onto the back of her neck and was curled around her, chewing vigorously at one of her pointed ears. The third was right in front of her. She couldn’t see it in the dark, but she had no trouble feeling its sharp teeth tearing away at her cheeks and lips. She howled as the rat on top of her head slid low enough over her forehead to rip through one of her eyes, stuffing its head into the bleeding socket. Mhoryga’s scream choked off as the rat in front of her face dove for the open hole, squeezing its emaciated form down her throat, chewing off chunks of tongue along the way.

Mhoryga hacked blood across the front of the box as the starving rat burrowed its way down her gullet and into her stomach. She retched as the uneasy lump of matter in her belly shifted wildly, splashing through her stomach juices and chewing at the lining of the organ. Her remaining eye bulged as the last remnants of her tattered ear were torn free, pounding streaks rushing through her skull as the rat on her head strained to force its way through her hollowed-out eye socket. When that didn’t work, it pulled its gore-soaked head free and started to chew on her nose. As he drove into her trembling snatch, the king eyed the tortured elf’s midsection, grinning at the bulge of the rat thrashing about inside her. By the look of it, the hungry rodent had already chewed its way free from Mhoryga’s stomach and was making quite the feast of her hot, twisted intestines.

Hammering his prick deep into the refugee a few more times, Tarron blasted her twitching pussy with his seed before promptly shoving her off of him. He had no interest in offering up his cock to the starving rat burrowing its way steadily through the woman. Rising to his feet, he loomed over Mhoryga and watched with amusement as she kicked and writhed before him. The rat inside her gut wasn’t nearly as scrawny by the time it squeezed its bloody body through the torn-up lips of the elf’s cunt. She expired shortly after the adventurous rat was scooped up and returned to the sack. The box was removed from her head, allowing Tarron and the others to look upon what remained of Mhoryga’s face. She’d managed to keep her one eye, but the rest of her flesh had been reduced to gory tatters, ears gone, nose bored down to a hollow stump, lips chewed away to reveal only an eerie crimson grin. Only a few scraps of hair clung to her shredded scalp. The two satisfied rats were caught and returned to the sack.

The remaining refugees were nearly comatose with trauma, vacant eyes fixed on Mhoryga’s chewed up remains. Tarron looked them over before choosing Lazziar as his next plaything. She snapped out of her daze quickly when the king trudged towards her. He felt up her body, clutching at her tits, ramming a couple fingers up her cunt, reaching around to grope her firm buttocks, jamming his digits into her mouth. With a growled order to his undead troops, he had the squirming elf dragged to a nearby wall, arms pulled out to her sides. A collection of rusted metal spikes were handed to the king, alongside a hammer. He took great pleasure pounding each one of the spikes through Lazziar’s flesh, one for each of her wrists to pin her arms to the wall, and then – after prying her legs apart – another pair through her knees. Effectively pinned like a worthless insect to the wall, the elf was a helpless ornament open for business.

Tarron took her first, as was his right, sheathing his member into her tight snatch and listening to her sobs as he plundered her hole for everything it was worth. Leaving his seed draining from her vigorously fucked pussy, he moved aside to allow some of his underlings to have some fun with her, turning his attention to the final refugee. He dragged Tinesi down onto her knees before him, dragging his stiff cock across her soft lips before ramming his way down her throat. He fucked her face, listening to her urgent gagging and Lazziar’s desperate sobs. Painting Tinesi’s face with his cum, he shoved her into the eager clutches of another pack of his mindless minions.

Even his undead vitality was not limitless. King Tarron dropped onto a bench in front of the table where Penelo’s corpse lay. He casually flicked at the dead soldier’s nipples as he watched his underlings have their fun. Tinesi did not last long. The appetites of the undead elves she’d been tossed to were equal to the starving rats. The young elf was ripped to pieces, those pieces fought over as the men fucked her in every way imaginable. Lazziar lasted longer, her cunt a gooey mess by the time interest in her seemed to fade. The king lifted himself to his feet and trudged back over to her, procuring one last spike. He lined the tip of it up with her forehead, listened to her pathetic sobs for a few moments longer, and then hammered it through her skull. As Lazziar was reduced to a shuddering corpse, a relative silence descended upon the corpse-strewn pub.

* * *

The dryads in Nythnebelle had sensed something foul looming, but they’d not been capable of sorting out what it was or how to handle it until King Tarron had led his undead forces into their forest. By then, they were caught too off guard to put up any means of defense against the corrupted elven forces eagerly rampaging through the sacred wilderness. The dryad women were caught, raped, and slaughtered no differently than the elven women had. The green-skinned beauties were quite the delicacy, the kind that would have certainly been savored for years if the undead men weren’t so consumed with ravenous appetites. The dryads’ suffering was brutal, but reasonably short-lived, a scrumptious snack before King Tarron led his forces further out into the world to continue his hunt for those of his kind still burdened with natural life.

Meniphis had been near the outskirts of the forest when Tarron’s forces arrived. She’d always been curious and the sound of distant screams had lured her to the very border of her domain. That curiosity cost her dearly, making her the first dryad to be snared. She possessed a petite physique with short brown hair. Certainly not a fighter, but she made for an excellent victim. Meniphis became the centerpiece of a wild gangrape, cunt, mouth, and ass stretched by elven pricks. Even with his dead mind, Tarron possessed knowledge of the dryads, knowing of their split existences between their fleshy forms and their personal tree. His murky eyes allowed him to see the invisible threads connecting Meniphis to her tree and he was pleased to find it not far from where they’d captured the girl.

Carried along among the pack of horny undead elves, Meniphis’s suffering only grew worse when they reached her tree. Tarron made the first cut across the trunk of her tree, drawing an agonize howl from the dryad’s lips as the gouge he left in the wood was mirrored along the side of her left thigh. He set a few of his underlings loose on the tree with specific instructions to de-bark the tree. Meniphis expelled an impressive amount of energy, writhing and jerking, bucking and grinding, as chunks of bark were pried away from her tree and – in turn – scrapes of her skin were sheered from her body. Meniphis’s lingering torture served as a blatant announcement to the rest of the dryads that their end had arrived. A few of the bolder women spied on what was happening from deeper in the forest, shedding silent tears for their captured sister. The majority of Meniphis’s tree was scrapped raw by the time her mostly fleshless body gave out. They chucked the used up, bloody carcass of the dryad against the bottom of her tree and stalked further into the woods, spreading out to hunt down every one of the women.

Abruptly, Tarron swatted at the air as is brushing away an annoying insect. It was only when he opened his hand part of the way that the others could see what he had grabbed. A beautiful woman… only about six inches tall, with delicate-looking dragonfly wings.

Calae, like most pixies, was nearly invisible while in motion… used to being unnoticed, flitting around and playing pranks, living in the forest like free fae. The invaders, to Calae, had just been one more set of intruders in the forest to prank and play with. She couldn’t have known that the cursed vision granted to Tarron by Irae’s resurrection made her plain to the reanimated revenant.

As Tarron brought her up to where his head was pinned to his chest, his mouth curved in a smile of amusement as his cock grew harder. Gripping the pixie girl in one fist, he brought her down to his cock and began to push. Calae screamed, a sharp, tinny wail of anguish as she was bludgeoned by a cock almost as wide around as her entire body, and longer to boot. No sensible person could have believed that it would fit, and no one with a conscience would have tried… but in his undead state, the former king didn’t hesitate.

With a ripping, he felt something in the pixie break… and he sank into her more than half of her body length. Her scream abruptly cut off as his cock crushed her lungs flat inside of her. No elf would could have survived a trauma like that… but unfortunately for Calae, a pixie’s tiny body was far more resilient. Instead of ripping, her skin stretched obscenely around the cock pushing into her, turning her lower body and belly into a cock-shaped flesh condom for the dead king. Gripping onto her tightly, Tarron pulled back, and then rammed her further down onto his length. The tiny girl’s eyes rolled back in her head and she spit up blood, but her arms and legs still thrashed… she still lived. 

As Tarron began to walk deeper into the grove in hunting for the dryads, he roughly masturbated with the distended body of the poor pixie, idly pulling off her wings one at a time as he fucked her entire body with jerking strokes. She was alive through the whole thing… she was still alive, barely, when he started raping another of the dryads, cramming the squirming pixie up her asshole while she was still wrapped around his dick like a sheath. He left the still body inside the dryad when he finished.

Some of the dryads died quickly, but most died slow, after long sessions of hard torture and harder rapes. As their numbers dwindled and more and more of the sacred trees were reduced to kindling, the suffering intensified. The final living dryads in the forest were herded to the center of the forest, captured, fucked thoroughly, and then prepared for the king’s devious intentions. The green-skinned women screamed into the night sky as the limbs of their trees were carved through, the sensation of their limbs being severed ripping through their bodies. Sweat poured out of them as the severed tree branches were gathered and used to make numerous low-burning fire pits. They felt themselves both penetrated and penetrating as they were driven onto low-hanging branches of their trees, spitted from bloody asshole to gaping mouth. Positioned over the flickering flames, the dryads suffered through a slow roasting. The scent of cooked meat and scorched lumber permeated the forest, driving the dryads into a painful insanity as they cooked.

When they finished cooking, several of the dryads were butchered and devoured completely, leaving behind only gruesome scraps, but most of them were only partially harvested. A tasty tit sliced away from one’s chest, a thick slab of ass roast carved from the rump of another. The meat of the dryads only helped to satiate the undead elves’ desire for pain and perversion, their resurrected stomachs no longer needing sustenance. By the time only a handful of the dryads remained alive to sustain the symphony of suffering within the woods, King Tarron called to have his troops move on to the next town, making sure to set the surviving trees ablaze as they departed. The spitted dryads found a new level of agony as their roasted carcasses felt a new kind of heat as the wood of their beloved trees ignited. The burning they felt was far more intense than the roasting flames, all consuming, covering every inch of their flesh and filling their insides. King Tarron made it his mission to catch the remaining pixies flitting through the forest as well, their mercurial natures leaving them innocent to the danger they were in until it was far too late. By the time he led his troops in a march away from the once beautiful forest that had now become a raging inferno, each and every soldier under his command had their own pixie condom as they left the fires behind, creeping ever inward to finally finish frying the remainder of the dryads.

* * *

**The town of Selrensera**

Keya Nerilamin had returned to life feeling nothing but satisfaction for the revenge she’d claimed from Lixiss. The temptation to spend the first minutes of her unlife further tormenting the bitch’s corpse was diminished thanks to the purpose and guidance Irae had resurrected her with. Collecting her horde of undead elven men, she set out from Soleila eager to further her sadistic instincts. The town of Selrensera was a decent ways from the capital city and reasonably sizable in its own right. Her horde found numerous straggling refugees along the way and Keya was happy to let her minions have their fun. The haggard men and women meant nothing to her. Although none of them caught her eye, she still enjoyed the sight of them being slaughtered or – in the case of the women – raped and then slaughtered. It was easy for her to imagine Lixiss’s face in place of the horrified visages of the refugees. It wasn’t until they reached the outskirts of Selrensera that Keya’s interest perked up.

In order to spread further and hunt down the escapees with ease, Keya’s regiment of undead elves had been afforded the use of some of the drows’ spider-lizard mounts. The beasts were vicious and weren’t particularly fond of being ridden by masters who were not drow. Several of Keya’s underlings had been ripped apart by the creatures, but they’d been quite valuable, well worth the nuisance of a few shredded corpses. Spotting the stable yard just outside the town, the wicked elf woman determined it would make an excellent place to let the disgruntled mounts work out some of their aggression. She ordered her troops to move in, already hearing the nervous whiney of horses sensing the approaching threat. The weary-eyed stable hands weren’t nearly as alert, still trying to shake the sleep from their minds in the early morning as they moved about the barn to tend to the steeds.

Kenia Keletor and Llorva Genlamin were utterly unprepared for the vicious eight-legged lizard mounts as they were unleashed on the stable. The shrieking elves were chased from one end of the building to the next as the lizards gnashed their teeth and flicked their tails. The horses – tied off in their individual stalls – were easy pickings, bucking and kicking as they were ripped into, becoming satisfying meals for the carnivorous reptiles. Cornered in the back of the stable, Llorva made a scrambling leap for the rafters, legs kicking wildly as she strained to pull herself up into the relative safety of the hay storage area. She screamed as her hands slipped, dropping her hard onto her back among the spider-lizards. They darted in, snapping their jaws closed around her flailing form with ravenous delight. Llorva’s screams intensified, the sounds of her flesh being ripped to shreds underscoring her howling until one of the drow mounts finally crunched through her face.

Kenia made it out of the stable, but it only led her into the clutches of the undead elves lurking just outside. Keya had the girl stripped and staked to the ground, allowing the unleashed mounts to finish slaughtering and eating everything in the stable before sending some of her troops in to wrangle the beasts. The things were somewhat more manageable now that they’d been well fed, only ripping apart two undead elves before allowing themselves to be controlled again. With their hunger largely sated, the spider-lizards took a different kind of interest in the stripped elf pinned to the ground they found outside the barn. Kenia sobbed, squirming, shifting her head from side to side to look over her shoulder at the advancing monsters as they moved in to flick their long tongues across her upraised buttocks.

After a little bit of examination, the time came for the mounts to do some mounting of their own. The beasts were handled firmly to keep them from turning on each other in their efforts to violate Kenia. They were allowed to take turns climbing onto the staked elf, humping into her ass with animalistic brutality. The largely mindless minions Keya had at her disposal enjoyed the show, but it was clear they wanted their own victims to fuck and kill. Luckily for them, it didn’t take long for the spider-lizards to work up a fresh appetite. Staked to the ground, Kenia could only howl out her misery as the creatures ripped her apart in a spectacularly bloody fashion, reducing her to hot chunks of shredded meat to be eagerly devoured. With the stable hands dead and the mounts appeased, Keya directed her forces further into Selrensera, excited to see what other atrocities she could design along the way.

* * *

Shalendra Qinran stifled a yawn as she stoked her forge, stirring it towards a workable level of heat. Not even fully morning yet and already the blacksmith’s workshop was stifling. Sweat dripped down the elf’s face as she worked, the warmth doing its best to lull her back to sleep. She normally didn’t get started quite so early, but she’d received word that the nobleman who’d commissioned her to make a sword was planning on collecting the weapon the following day, instead of a week later as originally planned. An early start was the only chance she had of finishing the thing on time. Thankfully, the sword was meant to be more of a display trophy than an actual weapon. It offended her as a professional weaponsmith, but the money was good, and the demand for real weapons was at an all-time low.

“What we really need is another war,” Shalendra grumbled.

Moments later, the genocidal invasion she’d been blissfully unaware of came barging into her workshop. The imagery of a mischievous dead girl leading a pack of aroused dead men was shocking enough that for a few precious moments, Shalendra thought she might have dozed off. Then they were on her, and the reality of her unnatural situation was confirmed. As the men got the blacksmith’s clothes off and had an initial bit of fun with her, Keya looked around the workshop, marveling at all the possibilities for torture and death. There were the weapons – finished and half-finished – but those were too simple. The tools to create weaponry seemed far more devious to her. And Shalendra had already gone through the trouble of preparing most of them for easy use. Keya slid a branding iron into the furnace, letting it heat to a glowing red.

With Shalendra bent over already, it was reasonably easy for Keya to ram the branding iron into her right ass cheek. The blacksmith shrieked as the brand burned into her flesh, melting her skin against the metal before Keya tore the brand free, leaving behind a bloody, swollen welt in the shape of the local farmer she branded cattle for on the regular. Flung onto her back, Shalendra was given a few moments longer to scream before one of the undead men dropped onto her chest and plugged her mouth with his erection. Keya returned the branding iron to the forge and looked for something else to hurt the woman with. It didn’t take her long.

The steel ingots Shalendra had fed into the forge to start work on her commissioned sword had melted down into a liquid metal, perfect for pouring and molding. Scooping some of it up into a smithing ladle, Keya carried it carefully over to where the woman lay. She tilted the ladle over Shalendra’s left ankle, pouring the molten metal over her. The metal burned her flesh as it rolled over it, singing into the floor. Keya adjusted the aim of the ladle, dumping the remainder of the liquid metal over the blacksmith’s other ankle. Grabbing a bucket and dipping it into the nearby quenching barrel, Keya poured water over the superheated metal, cooling it down rapidly and returning it to a solid state. The manacles now holding Shelandra’s legs against the floor were quite crude looking, but doubly effective since the metal had burned its way into her flesh, making it impossible for the woman to even wiggle without sending agonizing pain up her legs.

There was still plenty of melted steel left to use. The thought of continuing to pour it over the blacksmith until she was fused with the floor completely was tempting, but Keya’s twisted undead mind sparked on something even more devious. She made a quick pass amongst the group of dead men at her disposal, grabbing the one with the biggest cock she could find. The sounds of Shelandra sobbing and begging made for pleasant music as Keya pushed the dead man against a wall and clattered about the workspace looking for the tools she needed to make her devious design a reality. The undead elf soldier was an obedient one. He didn’t even cause much trouble when Keya poured the liquid steel into the mold she’d made around his erection, layering it in steel and letting it set into the mold before quenching it. The end result was a terrible new means of sexual execution. An ever-erect member with a cruel, six-inch blade sprouting from the head.

The cock-bladed zombie was more than ready to put his new tool to use. Keya led him over to the blacksmith, ordering the others away from her. Shelandra stared up at the monstrosity looming over her, wide eyes fixed on the crudely fashioned blade, and screamed openly. She tugged hard on her legs, tearing her skin where the metal clung to it, but Cock-Blade dropped onto her and pinned her to the floor before she could rip herself free. Tears gushed from Shelandra’s eyes as the blade nicked across her clit on its way to lining up with her pussy. With a hard forward push, Cock-Blade sheathed his weaponized member into the flailing elf, slashing her vaginal walls apart before skewering his way through her cervix and uterus. Blood gushed from between the blacksmith’s thighs as the undead elf humped into her with vigorous strokes. The irritation of being unable to feel the warm clenching of her hole inspired him to fuck her harder, slashing her guts into tatters. Shelandra’s screams choked off as blood found its way to the back of her throat. Her struggles weakened as the internal damage within her became too much for her to handle. Finally, her head rolled to the side, eyes staring vacantly as her tits continued to jump and jiggle from the heavy fuck-thrusts of Cock-Blade.

* * *

It had been only a couple weeks since the drow had come to Merethyl Zumcyne’s little border town. Her world had continued to be a waking nightmare since then, as the drow seemed to be hunting her specifically, tracking her to Soleila and, now, the resurrected minions of the fiends had found her in Selrensera. But it wasn’t over yet. Like back in her hometown, the wicked invaders seemed to have some kind of fixed interest in her. She’d not been killed outright, and although she’d been roughly raped by several of the undead elves, she’d been brought to the zombie in charge. The undead elf girl didn’t look much older than she was and had an almost innocent appearance, if not for the sadistic actions she so clearly enjoyed committing. Merethyl did not want to be a slave. But the undead didn’t seem particularly clever. Just the fact that they’d decided to keep her alive a little longer than the others in the town gave her the hope that she could once again find a way to escape. She’d done it successfully twice before, after all.

Merethyl had no way of knowing that she’d been allowed to escape the first time and she chose to ignore the fact that her fear had inspired her to leave Soleila before the drow had even arrived.

With the town of Selrensera fully invaded and its living population reduced to a single young woman, Keya decided she’d more than earned herself some time off to have her own brand of private fun. And while her resurrected mind did not possess any knowledge of Merethyl’s past or how she’d been used by the drow, one look at the girl was enough to tell her that something about her was special. She was beautiful, but it was clear she’d been through a lot over a short period of time. Still, there was a flicker of something. Not fight. She was too weak to even consider fighting. But still, she seemed hopeful, like perhaps she’d not have to suffer like all of the others. Keya doubted Merethyl knew anything that she did not. Most likely, it was a splinter of insanity creeping through her youthful mind after watching her people slaughtered. But even so, it was still very real, and it would make for something quite fun to exploit and manipulate.

Of course, that did not mean Keya wasn’t also interested in thoroughly exploring and violating Merethyl in a sexual nature. Her brutes had worked the girl over pretty thoroughly. Jizz leaked from her holes and clung to her flesh. That was of little concern to Keya. The house she’d taken to be her private fuck hovel for the day had a tub and fresh water. Forcing Merethyl to clean herself made for an entertaining appetizer. Keya stood in the doorway, watching her scrub the filth from her skin and rubbing a hand between her thighs. Merethyl kept her eyes averted from the undead woman leering at her. Whatever relief she took from getting to wash the cum and sweat off of her was lost under Keya’s piercing gaze, leaving her feeling dirtier than when she’d gotten into the bath.

With her toy properly cleansed, Keya led Merethyl to the bed, laying the girl out across the sheets still sticky with the blood of the couple who’d been killed there only a couple hours earlier. It didn’t do much to preserve Merethyl’s cleanliness, but it did give her skin a tasty crimson sheen. Keya took over the bathing process with her tongue, focusing on the most sensitive, juiciest areas of the woman’s body. Lowering her pussy over her plaything’s face, Keya ground back and forth across Merethyl’s lips while forcing her hands to her chest. As her lust swelled within her and she gushed her fluids over Merethyl’s gasping face, Keya dropped forward and tried to stuff as much of her tongue up the young elf’s slit. The session had no shortage of passion, even if it was entirely one-sided. Keya manipulated Merethyl’s body, forcing her to bestow the pleasure she desired while reciprocating it, much to Merethyl’s dismay.

Merethyl did not attempt to fight off Keya’s attention. She’d seen what happened to those that tried to fight back. Her only chance would come from patience and endurance. Keya’s undead resolve and intense perversion stretched both to their limits. The sun had set by the time Keya’s boundless energy was finally spent, drawing her into a coma-like slumber beside her sweaty, traumatized victim. Merethyl remained frozen, half-entangled with her abuser, waiting for what felt like an eternity before she worked up the courage to try to slide free. Keya did not respond as she wiggled her way out from under the undead elf’s arm. She rolled and dropped off the side of the bed into a crouch, heart pounding in her chest. She stared hard at Keya, seeing not even a flicker of life from her. Her plan had worked. She was going to escape the horrors of the drow monsters for a third time.

Reaching the front door, Merethyl eased the door open, wincing as the hinges creaked. She glanced back towards the bedroom, took a few breaths. When Keya didn’t come rushing out to chase her down, she pulled the door further open and stepped outside into the darkness. A storm had come in at some point, a heavy downpour washing the blood from the streets and stirring the dirt into sloshy mud pits. The thunder and cascade of heavy water concealed her sounds as she darted out into the shadows, hissing as the chilly rain soaked her naked flesh in moments. She darted her head from side to side, trying to see any of the undead elves lying in wait for her, but could see nothing. She could only hope that the risen nightmares had fucked themselves into inert states just like Keya had.

Merethyl had not been in Selrensera long enough to know the layout of the town. In the darkness and the downpour, it made navigation even more difficult, her feet threatening to slip out from under her with each stride as she sloshed through the mud. She picked what looked like a direct route away from the majority of the town’s buildings and ran with as much speed as her tired legs could provide, simultaneously terrified and elated that she was once again going to regain her freedom.

With her capability of surveying things around her limited due to the rain, Merethyl didn’t see the subtle patch of soggy leave-strewn road in front of her. The moment her foot came down on the leaves, the ground gave out beneath her. She shrieked as she fell into the waiting pit, tumbling end over end before landing in a soggy splat at the bottom. Lifting herself up, the young elf’s stomach turned as she eyed the pile of butchered corpses she’d landed amongst, all that remained of the residents of Selrensera. “No, no, no,” she whined, getting to her feet and rushing for the nearest side of the pit. She tried to jump up and grab onto the ledge, but the depth of the pit was far more than she was capable of getting out of. It didn’t help that each time she jumped, her feet sank deeper into the watery mud beneath her. Catching movement overhead, she tilted her head back and looked up to see Keya leering down at her. The undead elf’s pale nudity practically glowed in the darkness, her eyes lit up with amused arousal as she moaned softly and moved her hands over the petite curves of her body.

“You wanted to keep me, right?” Merethyl gasped. “I’m sorry I ran, okay? Just pull me up and I can go back to being your slave. Please!” Even in the rain, the stench of the dead was stifling. She could feel a cold, lifeless husk pressing against the side of her leg, but she desperately fought against the urge to look down at it. She jumped for the ledge again, fingers digging into the muddy wall before her and leaving behind deep tracks through it as she slid back. Keya offered her no response beyond a wider grin and a motion of her hand, pointing to just behind Merethyl. The trapped elf turned her head slow, eyes growing wider with horror as she spotted the small group of undead men who’d been left to languish and rot away in the corpse pit.

Keya slid a hand down between her thighs, rubbing two fingers through the cleft of her tingling cunt. Her lust spiked as she watched the four horny dead men pull Merethyl into their clutches. The girl had been a fun means of celebrating, but she’d never been anything more than that. She would be leading her horde further out into the world soon. It was time to finish exterminating the life within the town. She plugged her fingers up her slippery hole as Merethyl was pulled onto a rigid shaft. The young elf screamed loudly, arms flailing about wildly as her pussy was stuffed and viciously pounded. A second dead man gripped her by the hair and fed his member into her open mouth, plugging off her screams as he fucked her face. Merethyl’s body shifted roughly back and forth between the two undead as they violated her, working out the pent-up lust they’d developed since becoming trapped in the corpse pit.

Cold spunk blasted into Merethyl at both ends. It bubbled from her stretched lips and leaked from her snatch. She was yanked up, groaning and sobbing, and tossed backwards. She landed across the corpse of a woman who’d had her throat slit and her gut split open. The pile of guts squished beneath her, giving her a gruesome reminder that the only thing left alive in the pit was her, and it was looking like she wouldn’t remain that way for long. Tears blurred her vision as heavier sobs crept through her, chest hitching from the hysterics consuming her. Her mind revolted against reality. I’m supposed to get away, she thought as another of the dead men dropped over her, finding his way into her cunt. Everyone around me dies, but I escape. That’s how it works!

Merethyl’s twisted perception of the wicked world was realigned as the dead men took turns hammering into her aching snatch, pumping load after load into her sex. Up above, she could see Keya continuing to watch her, masturbating vigorously to the sight of her abuse. When her cunt became a gooey, loose sheath, the undead elves pulled Merethyl up and flung her forward onto her tits. Her face splashed into the mud. She tried to scramble away, not knowing where she could go, just operating on pure terrified instinct. The dead men caught up to her with ease even as they knocked into one another, racing to be the first to resume Merethyl’s string of rapes. The victor dropped down behind her, hefting her hips up and aiming his prick for her asshole. The young elf shrieked as her sphincter was stretched around the girth of the undead soldier. Snarling with annoyance, the dead man reached up and shoved Merethyl’s face back down into the mud, silencing her irritating screams.

With the downpour showing no signs of stopping, the bottom of the corpse pit was a soggy soup of mud and blood. Merethyl’s mind was on the verge of coming apart at the seams. The rough ramming of her ass paired with her terror was enough to keep her screaming, right into the mud. Thick bubbles popped along the sides of her head as she expelled the limited contents of her lungs. Her hands slapped at the mud, stretching out to either side of her. One hand found a corpse, pawing along it until her fingers closed around a flaccid cock. She squeezed the cold flesh tightly, awkwardly jerking along its length as she breathed thick slop into her lungs. She jerked back to meet the thrusts of the dead man ass-fucking her, the spastic convulsions of her muscles providing him an extra bit of delight.

Keya’s eyes rolled back, thumb mashing hard against her stiff clitoris as cunt honey drained down her quivering thighs. As the avalanche of bliss washed through her, she struggled to focus her vision on the fading shudders of the last living elf in Selrensera. Ramming three fingers up her slit, she fucked herself harder than the dead man in the pit was fucking Merethyl’s upraised ass. With a sharp cry, she yanked her sticky fingers free and unleashed a geyser of girl-cum into the pit, adding her fluids to the rainfall soaking the blend of lively and not-so-lively corpses below. Bringing her hand up to her mouth, Keya slurped at her juices, giving Merethyl’s limp form one final lingering look before turning away to gather her horde and lead them on to fresh victims.


	9. The Culling

This is an especially brutal story, filled with torture, rape, and snuff. Be sure this is a thing you want to read before continuing. 

Qi had thought that she couldn’t feel pain. A full day and change in the company of drow soldiers had taught her otherwise.

Before today, she had never had a body… on the elemental plane she was nothing but sentient flame, and none of the times she had been summoned to this world in the past had her summoner commanded her to take a mortal form… but now that she had she found she had everything that went with it – like nerves… and lungs… and fuckable holes. And the drow were eager to take advantage of each of those things.

The first six or seven hours hadn’t been too bad, she guessed. Being raped had been humiliating and painful, all the more so because of its novelty, but the real worst part for Qi wasn’t that they were cruel, or lustful, or eager… it was that they were flammable. These weaklings… she wanted to ignite, to turn them all into kindling, but she couldn’t. Every time she tried her will pressed against that of the drow wizard who had enslaved her and her sisters, and she found it as unyielding as anything Qi had ever encountered. The wizard’s will ordered her to obey, to harm no one, to stay dormant and unburning… so that was what she did, hating every second of it. It was actually painful to keep her flame this low… it was like a human holding their breath for hours and hours and only occasionally taking a tiny whisper of air.

By the time the sun had gone down on that first day of the invasion her body was covered in cum until she wished she could burst into flame just to scorch it off her. She envied Tali that… anything that the drow put on her skin would get blown away by her churning wind before too long. At least she wasn’t as bad off as Shelan – at this point her water was filthy, choked with the filthy seed of a thousand rapists. Every single time a man came inside her, on her, around her – and every time she was forced down into any of their mess on the floor – it would became part of her. The water elemental’s belly seemed to bulge with it, and at a glimpse she seemed like she was made of more cum than water at this point.

After that, things had gotten worse. They had started getting creative. 

Lei’s stone body was nearly invincible… but only nearly. The drow had started to drive things into it, staking her to the ground by their swords. She screamed almost constantly, feeling the agony of the injuries, but Earth couldn’t bleed… it wouldn’t kill her. Tali didn’t need to breath, Wind keeping her conscious, so the drow started finding other things for her to deep throat… the most recent that Qi had noticed has been the railing of a banister. And for Shelan and herself…

The drow couldn’t have known their history, that would have been impossible… but they couldn’t have created a more perfect torture if they had. It had started with one of them piercing Qi’s nipples, clit, and tongue with rings they had pulled off the dead summoners… real rings, not body jewelry. They were painfully, agonizingly thick, and she was forced to heat them to nearly white-hot by their commands, but it hadn’t seemed so bad compared to what Lei was suffering… until they had ordered Shelan to crawl on top of her and impale her own body on the piercings. Based on how she wept, Shelan could feel the pain of being pierced and spread by the searing hot metal, but her aqueous skin couldn’t keep them out – she could just sink them into her sensitive bits, but doing so pressed her body against Qi’s.

Li and Tali, Qi had been aware of… but each had just been one more elemental among many. Shelan… Shelan she considered a friend. Someone she cared about. Someone she had wanted to be with. That the two of them were so different made it more forbidden, more impossible… but no less desirable for either of them. They couldn’t touch one another, not without excruciating pain, but they had spent centuries together, longing to be together. Now they were… in the most excruciating way possible.

It was agonizing for them both. Even with Shelan doing her best to hold herself off Qi, the water cooled her skin, which hurt… but which also brought out her fire, stoking it, making her burn hotter to keep herself from going out. That made her feel even more like she was suffocating, but the worst part was how it hurt Shelan… making her insides boil. With their faces linked together, Qi could see the agony written in her lover’s eyes – while she was always aflame, she had never known how it felt to burn, but she suspected that her soul felt burned as she watched Water suffer.

More than one of their drow captors enjoyed sticking their cocks between their joined faces, making them fight with their joined tongue to pleasure it. It must have been a marvelous experience for them… one mouth hot and welcoming, the other soaking wet and cool, both tongues drawing a brilliant contrast across the shaft they were servicing.

That was merely humiliating, though. Their predicament got worse for them when they started raping them again, grinding their bodies together with each thrust. Tears dripped from Shelan’s face onto Qi’s, burst into agonizing spots of steam. She had longed to be clean, but not like this… Shelan’s body sliding against hers scraped all the cum off by taking it into her, and ever her holes were cleaned out regularly. When her holes got too sloppy they had Shelan pull herself off of the rings and crawl down to lick out her cunt and asshole. It was the most humiliating part, since while they had never had these mortal forms before today they had still longed so badly for intimacy in the past, and now they had it… in the worst possible way. Cleaning up Shelan was impossible since her holes were eternally “clean,” and it was only the insides of her body that were growing increasingly disgusting, but they made Qi do it anyway… her tongue turning water to steam inside of her holes and making her scream.

The others were being fucked just as much. Tali had something shoved so far down her throat that it was in her stomach – it looked like a mace, from what Qi could see – and her body was being held up and fucked between two men. She never got to touch the ground – as soon as one man finished, another took her place immediately, holding her up. Qi had always envied the Wind it’s ability to fly… she had seen elementals like Tali soar through the sky for days without ever needing to touch the ground. It wasn’t how she would want to do it.

Lei was still staked to the ground, but apparently the drow had gotten tired of fucking her in her present state. She wasn’t reactive enough, they said… it didn’t hurt her enough. While she was pinned, two drow had started beating her stones with hammers, spreading cracks through her form, before kneeling down and beginning to pry at them with knifes. To the side of her, Qi could see a pile of discarded stone… her outer layers. After that, she had screamed louder than anyone when being raped, or even at the slightest touch to her softer earth beneath. Did these monsters not realize that they had flayed Lei? Or did they, and that was why they so enjoyed it?

By the time Koszar returned, Qi’s world had been reduced to a hell of rape and humiliation that felt like it had been going on forever. She just measured time in the number of times she had been allowed to breathe in and rekindle her flame… she had been allowed a mere thirty one breaths since she had been summoned – she wasn’t sure how long that amounted to but it was well more than a full day ago. The wizard stood smiling as he looked at the state his four playthings had ended up in. “We’re leaving,” he announced. “Heading back home with our prizes. Report to your commanders,” he instructed the soldiers, who obeyed with obvious reluctance, leaving him watching the four degraded elementals.

“You all deserve to spend an eternity as fucktoys, but if I’m being honest that sounds like too much work. Keeping the four of you bound won’t be worth it… I only need one of you. So you’ve all been good little cumrags but now it’s time for three of you to die.”

Qi froze at the words. Death…

For an elf, death was a thing of dread, but a vague one. They might leave this world behind and move on to another one, where they didn’t know what awaited them, but that was an indistinct worry, a general fear. For Qi, she knew exactly what waited for her. Slain elementals went back to their plane of existence Shattered – they might not be able to die as mortal did, but their consciousness, their sentience, would fade as they were splintered into thousands of pieces of elemental energy: Individual embers off a flame, random drops of water, spare blades of grass or specs of dirt. She would spend an eternity in mindless agony. 

She would do anything to avoid that fate. Any elemental would.

Shelan cried out as she ripped her body off the piercings again in the instant before Qi felt the press of Koszar’s will again as well. She stood, walking with the others until she stood where he wanted… directly across the room from Lei. The Earth Elemental’s beautiful body was every bit as covered with seed as her as own had been before Shelan had needed to clean her, and she had slowly healing holes in her body from where she had ripped her way free of stakes. As she looked appraisingly at the other Elemental, the restriction keeping her from igniting suddenly faded away and abruptly Qi could BREATHE again. She took great gasping breaths for the first time in hours and hours and hours, her smoldering hair bursting into flame as the inferno inside her was allowed to rage again.

“So…” Koszar said with a shrug. “Like I said, I only need one. You two…” he said, pointing at Shelan and Tali, then at Lei and Qi. “And you two… kill each other. Spending the rest of a drow lifetime as a sex slave might not sound like the most dignified fate, but it’s what the one left standing earns. The rest of you will be well beyond dignity by then.” He gestured at them. “So go ahead. Get started. Try not to make a mess.”

Qi didn’t want to do this… but she wanted to die even less. Apparently Lei thought the same, because Earth took the choice out of her hand an instant later as she rushed at her. The flaming woman was knocked to the ground… Lei was nearly an unstoppable force. Despite her lithe, feminine body, she still weighed thousands of pounds of stone and dirt and she crushed Qi against the stones. She felt her fire starting to go out as it was smothered, the woman wrapping her impossibly strong hands around her neck and squeezing.

“I’m sorry…” Lei whispered, leaning more of her weight down onto Qi and squeezing harder. “I’m so sorry about this.” Her eyes were green gemstones, but Qi felt that she could see them leaking something anyway… dust seeping out of her eyesockets. What passed for tears from Earth.

“I’m… sorry… too,” Qi moaned. Then she grabbed onto Lei’s wrists and let the fire still inside her burn. She had gotten to breath in deeply, and after the last day of deprivation it felt like she had an endless amount of oxygen to burn, stoking the flames inside of her, and while Lei was nearly unstoppable, nearly indestructible, it was only nearly.

Qi poured all of her heat into her forearms, wrists, and hards… letting it flow through her hands, through her neck, through her smoldering hair… pouring it into her, firing the individual bits of her earth together into one solid, brittle mass. She started to scream and let go, backing off… Qi didn’t let her. She kept her grip on the screaming elemental, pouring more and more heat into her. Now that she could breathe openly she fanned the flames hotter and hotter, pouring more heat into Lei with every breath she took.

“Please!” Lei begged between screeches. Her body was hardening, becoming one solid piece… Qi’s heat was scorching her into a solid piece of slag, fused like a clay sculpture into position. “Please, Qi, don’t do this!”

“Sorry…” Qi whispered. Then she breathed deeply one more time and heat exploded off her in a wave, hot enough that Koszar needed to raise one hand a summon a magical ward to keep it off him. Lei screamed again, struggling weakly… Then she was silent, and moved no more. Qi stepped back, panting as she rekindled her exhausted flame. Lei looked like a statue… a beautiful black and gray elf woman, frozen in a startlingly realistic expression of pain and terror, her hands up to defend her naked body… and helpless to do so.

Koszar stepped up, running one hand over the sculpture and smiling. How she longed to burn him as well… but even thinking about it caused the binding of will on her to take her breath away again, leaving her gasping and in pain. “She’s still alive in there,” he said slowly with a smile, moving one finger back and forth across her eyes. Indeed, Qi could see he was right… now that it was quiet she could hear the woman’s nearly silent screams, echoing breathlessly from within the sealed, immobile tomb that Fire had turned her body into. The woman would almost certainly rather be Shattered…

It was quiet. Wait. That meant…

She turned, eyes horrified… and located Tali with difficulty. The nearly transparent woman was on the ground, barely alive… it was easier to make her out when you could follow the lines of her form, but she was so badly mangled that it was hard to do. Shelan, somehow, was woven herself in between the woman’s windsteams, cutting them off… and severing her limbs from her body. The dying woman lay on the ground now, her blowing breeze sounding more like a deathrattle with each passing second.

Shelan looked well. Tired, worried, but unhurt. On one hand, Qi was happy to see that. On the other… it would have been so much easier for Qi to live with herself if Tali had managed to kill Shelan. Qi didn’t want to have to be the one to do it.

Koszar walked over to the dying Wind elemental and tsked. Then he pulled a box, opened it… and Tali seemed to just… vanished into it. The limbless girl seemed to disappear like she was never there, her limbs left behind on the ground to slowly dissolve, blowing away with the moving air with Tali gone. Then he turned to the two surviving elementals. “So, which of you wants to spend the rest of my life as a cumdump? One more little death, and you get to have an eternity ahead of you. Or your story could end right here. What do you say?”

Qi started to burn. She was sorry, but Shelan was already a cumsoaked wreck… she could barely be called a Water elemental at all anymore. She seemed like she was more seed and blood and sweat and dirt than she was Water… what would life be like as that? She would be doing Shelan a mercy by killing her, and… and…

And it was better Shelan than her.

She rushed at her lover, breathing hard and stoking the flames, waves of heat making a mirage of the ground around her as she pushed her burning body against that of Shelan. It hurt her, and she hissed with the pain… but half of Shelan’s body exploded into steam and the woman screamed. She needed to keep her mouth closed, keep her nose away from her Water… she couldn’t let the woman get inside her. She would boil the woman away, long before her own flames could be taken out. She would survive as long as she… could…

Why wasn’t Shelan even trying?

Oh the disgraced elemental was screaming and struggling to get away, was wresting with the flaming woman… but she wasn’t trying to hurt her. She was… she was letting Qi win. That made sense, Qi thought… she didn’t want to live like this, right? She didn’t want to live as a disgraced mess, a ruin of her glorious, beautiful, wonderful self that Qi loved… she would rather die than…

Than hurt her.

Qi made her decision. Before she could second guess herself she shoved her head forward where she hoped the wizard wouldn’t see it, putting her face against where the collarbone would be on a normal woman… and breathed in. She swallowed the filthy water that made up Shelan’s body now, all of the cum that had been poured into her, breathing it it, letting it fill her stomach and her lungs… letting all the cum that had been used to defile Shelan and herself smother her flames. Shelan, horrified, tried to pull away but Qi held onto her… she wasn’t steaming anymore. Qi’s skin wasn’t any hotter than a normal beings anymore. Her flames sputtered and flickered… and died.

* * *

Shelan stood over Qi’s corpse in horror, her filthy hands covering her mouth. It wasn’t… this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. She wasn’t… it wasn’t supposed to go like this! Qi was the strong one, the brave one… she should have been the one who won. Not weak, pathetic Shelan…

Koszar walked over and prodded Qi with his foot. “Think she’s done,” he said with a smile. “Mostly.” He took a knife and Shelan winced as he stabbed it into Qi’s chest, cutting deeper into her, towards where the heart would be in a normal woman. Then she gestured with his hands and his magic seemed to peel the woman open like a present. If Shelan had been mortal, she would have vomited. Instead she could only watched as he reached down and picked out a tiny glowing ember… one single spark left of the glorious fire that had been her love. 

He held it between his fingers like he would pinch it… then he shrugged and opened a tiny potion jar, dropping the ember inside. “Could be useful,” he said as he turned and grinned at Shelan. “So let me welcome you to your new life…” He reached for the back of her head, grabbing her and yanking her forward until he had buried his cock in her mouth, impaling himself down her throat before he began to piss. 

Shelan felt the hot flood of acrid piss splash against the back of her mouth, and her entire body shuddered in disgust. She didn’t even have the option to try to refuse to drink it… the moment it splashed against her skin she took int into herself, absorbing it and including it into her water. She moaned in helpless humiliation at her newest humiliation, her lips sealed tight around his shaft while he just kept pissing. She couldn’t spit it out, couldn’t swallow it, couldn’t pull away… her body gulped in the foul waste until he was finally – finally – done.

He pulled back out of her throat, rubbing his cock on her soft, wet tongue as he wrung out the last few drops. “Yeah,” Koszar said with a nod. “You’ll do. I’ll never have to piss anywhere else from now on.”

Shelan felt profaned… even more than she had after hours and hours of sexual abuse. Was this was Qi had sacrificed herself for? For her to be used as the drow’s stinking toilet? She hoped that her lover would never have to see what she was turned into by this wizard.

Grinning, he shoved his cock down down her throat and began to fuck it. “It’s a long trip back to home, plaything,” Koszar said as he thrust in and out of his new toy’s mouth. “And I can’t wait to introduce you to some of the accommodations I have in mind for you…”

* * *

Ciliren Naera was amongst a very elite group… she was a resident of Soleila who’d lived beyond the drow invasion. Every inch of her body ached, her mind dulled from the shocking number of violations she’d endured since her capture. She could not fathom what made her special enough to keep alive, but she had no doubt that the drow had seen something in her that they desired to such an extent that they wished to maintain it. As she was carried through the conquered city she had called home her entire life, she was stunned by the sheer amount of death she could see, and the shockingly low number of fellow prisoners. Such a short time ago, Soleila had boasted a population of over a million elves. Now, as Ciliren was dragged from the city and into the crowd of other prisoners, she counted maybe only a few thousand captives, all of them women.

A thought suddenly popped into the weary elf’s mind. The majority of the drow she could see were all males. The soldiers being men made sense, but they seemed to have a good deal more swagger to their steps than she’d ever seen before, and even amongst the higher ranks, she’d only spotted a single woman. It was a strange sight, considering the drow had primarily been a female-led race for as long as she’d known. Something happened, she thought. Maybe a gender-specific plague. Oh goddess, they’re taking us to breed with. The thought of being kept as little more than cattle, endlessly fucked and forced to squeeze out half-breed children for her new rulers sickened her more than the montage of rape she’d already endured. She wondered if perhaps she was already impregnated. The odds were high, given the vast amount of cum that had been pumped into her. Ciliren made a silent vow to herself to do whatever she could to prematurely end any pregnancy the drow caused, even if the cost was her own life. Better to die than to let them use her in such a sick fashion.

She walked out of the city alongside her sister… pleased at least that while their mother and father had both been killed, at least sweet Kyla had survived. She wasn’t going to be alone. Even chained in a group, staring at the ground in broken dismay, at least she wasn’t alone.

“Ah, the spoils of war,” a voice said. Ciliren looked up to see a group of soldiers marching by, a regiment of a hundred that paused behind their leader. Most drow were fairly small and lithe, like her own race was… not this one at the head of the soldiers. If she had to guess, someone in his lineage had bred with an ogre – the man was almost seven feet tall, and nearly as broad as two of her at the shoulders. For all of that, he was beautiful in a cruel way… like a statude carved out of sharp obsidian. “Making sure no one was alive in the city was tiring work… I think we deserve a break. And I need a piss.”

“Which one do you want, commander Raelar?” one of his subordinates asked. None of the naked elves dared to meet their enslavers lecherous leers as they looked over the assembled group.

The one called Raelar let his gaze wander across the wagon. “Vhaerun has blessed us with quite the choice… these surface sluts had plenty of daughters for us to fuck.” Raelar searched some more, then his grin widened. “That one!” he declared… pointing right towards Kyla’s cowering figure. 

Ciliren looked on in horror as a group of soldiers detached her sister’s shackles from the chain. She longed to fight… but she had seen what fighting got the women of her city. If she fought, they would hurt her… maybe kill her. And then her sister would be violated again anyway. Better to have it done with. She was locked in her chains, able to do nothing but witness her sisters cruel fate. Even the chains had stopped dragging her forward as the next group up ahead had reached one of the distant wagons she could see around.

The drow deposited Kyla at their commander’s feet. Surrounded by the dark skinned elves and their massive commander, the naked girl looked even smaller and more vulnerable. She shivered as if arctic winds blew against her bare skin. “What a sexy, little fuck-toy!” one exclaimed and licked his lips wantonly.

Kyla kept her chin downcast as tears started streaming down her pallid cheeks. With perverse curiosity their hands reached out and started molesting her petite, adolescent body. The drow groped and fondled her fertile curves with cruel smile. The elf was little more than a child by the standards of her race, a mere forty years old. To a human, she wasn’t even finished with adolescence yet. Her breasts had already grown large and fertile, though, and they attracted many hands from her captors. Kyla promised to be a legendary beauty when she grew older.

The massive commander dropped his pants. Ciliren sobbed to see his cock, nearly as much as Kyla did. Long and monstrously fat, it looked like a battering ram, thicker than Kyla’s forearm. Her sister began to weep when she saw it. “Please!” Ciliren screamed despite herself. “Leave her alone! Take me instead!” The few other enslaved girls brave enough to watch this far averted their eyes as the Drow commanded looked at her… and smiled.

“No.” 

His hands gripped her shoulders and shoved her down to her knees. “Anyone made you drink piss yet, whore?”

Kyla’s eyes widened. “N-n-no!” she stuttered. “I can’t… you can’t!”

“I’m pleased to be your first, then,” Raelar said as he slapped his cock against her lips. “Open up.” He glared down at her as she kept her jaw stubbornly closed. “I said open your fucking mouth, latrine-girl.”

Kyla shook her head in mute horror, keeping her lips pressed tightly together. Raelar’s face broke into a leering, cruel smile. “Alright then,” he said with obvious pleasure. “This whore think’s she’s too good to be our toilet… so that’s exactly what she’s going to be for the rest of her life.” He gripped her jaw and began to squeeze. “This little whore… and all the rest of you!” he said, raising in voice as he swept his gaze over the others, locking on Ciliren for a moment to give her an especially cruel grin, “…is going to learn the cost of defiance.” And his strong hand shook as he squeezed.

Kyla’s jaw popped open under his massive strength, and she screamed… but he didn’t stop squeezing. The beautiful blonde elf’s scream grew higher and higher in pitch as he squeezed her in his hand. When her jaw gave, Ciliren could hear the crack from over here, and she wept savagely. “Please, leave her alone!” she cried out, her pleas ignored but all of the drow – their gazes fixed on the sobbing Kyla. She knelt on the ground in agony, her hands bound behind her back, her jaw hanging loosely open… broken, unable to be closed. “Piss whore,” Raelar mocked as he hefted his huge, half-erect python towards the trembling lips of the elf girl. “Take this, you bitch!” 

A monstrous stream of hot, gushing urine was unleashed out from his bulbous cockhead. Piss soaring through the air landed in Kyla’s open and splashed against her recipient tongue. The impact made dark, murky urine splash in all different directions. The runny fluid crashed against her teeth, gums, lips, the palate of her mouth, as well as the fleshy mucus membrane that made up the most of the internal surface of her oral cavity. The young girls eyes widened and bulged madly as she was turned into a urinal. All around her other drow soldier began their gruff, condescending laughter. Kyla looked terrified to Ciliren’s eyes, her jaw hanging brokenly open as the foul liquid bombarded her tongue with its hefty stream. Every drop of his ejected piss finding its way into her face-hole, acrid urine filled every nook and cranny of Kyla’s mouth until she could taste nothing else. It befouled her tongue and ran through the miniscule cracks of her teeth. Such was the force of his stream that it began to gush down her gullet even before she willingly swallowed. Foul urine sluice down Kyla’s narrow throat with such strength that she could practically feel it splattering into the sack of her stomach.

Raelar towered over her, forming a monolith of ebon muscle. “Keep swallowing that piss surface whore! Swallow my… piss!” Ciliren could smell it even from where she stood in line. Her sister was gagging as she chugging it all down. Such was the quantity that it seemed to pour down her esophagus was like a waterfall as he kept going, his bladder emptying over long seconds… passing twenty, and the stream showed so sign of slowing. Kyla’s repulsed, panicky eyes grew more and more mortified as the outflow continued, as all around her the other drow soldier pulled out their dicks and moved to her flank. Kyla’s frightened eyes began to twitch involuntarily in terror as she saw them take aim at her opened mouth. Only the hands on her kept her from squirming out of the way as more urin surged through that collection of cocks and into her mouth. 

“That’s right,” one of them growled. “Swallow all that piss or die slowly bitch! I’ll flay your tits myself and drag you across the ground the whole way down to Menzoberranzan if that’s what it takes you kill you…” 

Kyla gagged and gurgled from the sheer excruciating effort it took to ingest all the disgusting piss. Her throat labored constantly to consume it, but after each hurried gulp, the free space in her mouth was refilled almost instantly. Tense silence filled the air, filled only by the sobbing of girls in line and the wet splashing of urine as the other soldiers watched and waited for their turn. “Kyla… Kyla… no…” Ciliren whispered in awe and anxiety as she watched her little sister gulp down swallow after swallow of disgusting, yellow piss. Her heart thrummed anxiously for it to end. The despoilment dragged on for over a minute before their streams finally begun to wane in intensity. At last only a few irregularly fired jets was propelled from their dried up bladders. 

“Au-uhhhhhhhh…!” The drow moaned in unison as if that had been the single most satisfactory leak in their life. Raelar grinned. “Filled you up like a bucket with our piss, elf-bitch! You’re nothing but a container for whatever a drow wants to give you… and if you’re not worth our cum, you can be a common latrine instead.” He stared down at the elf. The tribulation of even those three of them had taken its toll on Kyla. She appeared wobbly and dazed as if intoxicated – Her eyes were glassy and unfocused as the drow around her laughed at her. So much acrid urine now splashed around in her tiny belly that Kyla looked about ready to vomit it all back out. All around her, soldier laughed and stroked their cocks as they watched the lithe young elf wallowing in shame and nausea.

“Yes…” Raelar mused, “A common, public toilet. A piss-bucket ready to be filled to the brink by every soldier in the camp in the battalion.” He turned to look at the assembled soldiers. “This disrespectful bitch thinks she’s too good for piss. She’s now your piss-bucket. No one takes a leak except in her mouth. Show these haughty bitches what we think of them by filling up one of their precious daughters with so much piss that her belly bursts!” 

Ciliren looked on in horror as about twenty-five drow warriors surrounded Kyla, each seeking to become the next soldier in line to dump a bucket of piss inside her. Kyla just stared ahead, her eyes unfocused. To her sister, it seemed like she was already mentally destroyed and now struggling to not spew up all the fluids already deposited inside her guts. “Kyla!!! NOOO!!!! Kyla!!!” Ciliren screamed in unbelievable grief. She shook the chains holding her in place like a caged animal, like she was trying to break them with sheer willpower. Useless. In front of Kyla, the drow had already formed an semi-orderly line. Weakly, her sister tried to squirm away, but Raelar was right there, holding her skull immobilized on the spot. Kyla had about as good a chance to get out of his grip as Ciliren had breaking down the steel of her chains.

“Alright! Fill this bitch up!” Raelar commanded the first of his men. The drow wasn’t nearly as large as his commander, but his cock still seemed huge and cruel to Ciliren as he inserted it past Kyla’s forcefully gaping lips. Then he began to piss directly down her gullet. Tons of it splashed down into her. “Your innards will be nothing but sewage canals when this is over, elf whore… you’ll be right at home in the gutters of your husk of a city…”

Her throat labored frantically in panic to gulp down all of his quickly flooding bladder-fluid. Through stares she started begging the drow to stop. Her bloodshot, weeping eyes pathetically pleading with him only gave the drow a thrill, and by the time the last drops of urine was expelled from his cock, Kyla’s eyes instead shone with hopelessness and defeat. Somehow she knew any kind of pleading this day were to be in vain. It felt as if the masses of piss inside her begun to bubble and boil. 

Kyla coughed with an gutturally edge, then did so again. Then she began to heave, spewing out dark, murky urine from her mouth.

“Next!” Raelar roared as he still held her, totally uncaring. A muscular soldier stepped forth and clogged Kyla mouth with his broad cock-shaft, effectively stopping the violent outpour. Kyla’s eyes bulged madly as the insertion was made. Suddenly the regurgitating fluids ceased flowing. With nowhere to go it started surging back down into her stomach sack.

The drow soldier made sure replacements were made for the already lost liquids. From his buried meat, a new batch of warm, bitter piss began spraying down her gullet. So much more urine arrived to stir up the pot. Kyla felt herself go insane. Like his predecessors, the drow soldier discharged his urine at a furious pace. Scorching hot piss flooded down into the pool inside Kyla’s stomach and mingled with the foulness already there. The amount of piss that Kyla had expelled from her packed belly was quickly accounted for. Her esophagus was now nothing more than a pipeline of constantly streaming urine. She gagged and choked on the acrid liquid that scalded the walls of her throat as it was sluiced down.

“Still think you’re too good for piss?” Raelar asked her with a chuckle.

There was a grumble from Kyla’s stomach. Then the unimaginable happened as slowly, her guts began to inflate and distend outward as if growing. What was once a perfectly flat stomach became bloated and swollen in a saggy manner. Ciliren’s screams ceased in her growing horror as she bore witness to the effects of the abominable torture… already her sister looked pregnant! 

Kyla reddened face twisted and contorted painfully from sheer discomfort. Her eyes trembled as her belly grew. She lost complete control of herself. In an instinctual effort to make space inside her body she released her own piss onto the ground. Even with her bladder stuffed to the point of distending Kyla’s stream was a meek and meager compeered to the violent gushes of the soldiers. “Hahaha! The piss-bucket is leaking!” someone loudly taunted from the line. 

“Hold it in there once your done,” Raelar grunted as he smirked, amused by the cruel torture. As the current soldier finished, he kept his cock lodged down her throat. He slapped her distressed, agonizingly contorted face a couple of time, smiling at the torturous pain appearing in her expression as he did so… but so plugged up, none of the fluids trapped inside of her could escape. He waited until the next soldier got into position before he withdrew his clogging cock. Almost like a pressurized bottle suddenly uncorked, piss began to geyser out of Kyla’s freed mouth. Then the next soldier standing over Kyla’s kneeling body thrust forward, his marauding dick completely blocking off her throat. It quelled the surging stream and forced it back down into the outstretched innards they came from.

Much murky urine had been expelled during the intense regurgitation, but it wasn’t even enough to make Kyla’s tummy deflate back to normal. The young elf’s eyes trembled madly, both from extreme disgust and agony over all the copious masses swelling her stomach, as well as the terrifying fact that there was a lot more coming. An agitated, foreboding twitch came from the engorged and piss-itching horse-organ. “Uuuhh… take this you bitch! I love to feel a slaves lips around my cock as I’m pissing,” the drow snarled. Kyla’s eyes went wide and yet another torrent from his bladder poured down her gulping gullet with relentless and unyielding speed. 

“NOO!!! It’s too much! You’re killing her!” Ciliren wailed on her sisters behalf. She didn’t lie. If Kyla wasn’t immobilized by Raelar’s inhumanly strong hands she would be shaking her head like an crazed animal to escape.

More and more of the immense amounts of piss the busy soldiers seem to have accumulated was dumped into Kyla through his cock. To Kyla, it felt as if sizzling acid was being chugged down her throat that fried away at her sensitive esophagus. Kyla’s eyes rolled and wobbled helplessly at the burning pain of it. That she wanted it to end was as clear as day. That it was obliterating her mind was just as obvious.

“Drink that piss bitch!” one of the drow mocked. “Your nothing but a worthless, living toilet!”

The flow seemed endless and refused to wane in intensity. Ciliren imagined she could actually hear the sound of the newly deposited urine splashing tumultuously into the large pool of piss already lodged inside Kyla’s bloated stomach-sack. The already saggy, distended belly kept expanding outward, the growth rapid enough that Ciliren’s eyes widened with unbelieving awe. Kyla was so stuffed with the vile mix of several different drow’s warm and murky urine that she appeared bloated with an unborn child of nine-months! But that was not the end of it, the swelling kept growing.

“Stop this!” Ciliren cried out. “You want her as a slave right! You’re going to kill her! Please, goddess, stop! STOP IT NOW!” A heartbroken Ciliren bellowed, weeping on her sisters behalf.

For the first time, Raelar directly turned to look at her. “I know,” he mocked. “You’re all replaceable. If she wanted to live, she should have swallowed by piss like a good girl. Now this latrine is going to be filled… all the way.” 

As Raelar spoke, Kyla’s eye-lids fluttered rapidly as if consumed by the pain-inducing sea that swooshed around in her belly. The drow inside her finally finished, and his cock simply slid out of Kyla’s piss-lubed throat as he backed off. Kyla commenced purging the piss in her again, more violently than ever. “Hey! Next man up! Don’t let the fucking piss-bucket empty herself! Jam your dicks down her throat and plug up that hole!” An annoyed Raelar ordered.

Yet again, a soldier stepped again. Yet again, he stuck his monstrous cock down her throat, clogging it shut. Once again, he started to piss, and yet again, any loss of piss during her frantic heaving was quickly replaced. And again. And again. 

Ciliren kept wailing as frenetically as ever, But Kyla spirit seemed to be leaving her. Her harrowed eyes were no longer panicky and pleading, but vacant and glossy. There was no animation to her body, no squirm or struggle against Raelar’s grip. Lifeless acceptance was all that meet the pissing soldiers. Kyla state was an abomination that had to be seen. “Fuck waiting! I can’t hold it anymore!” one of the soldiers said, walking toward her.” He took Raelar place behind her, his cock like a rod of iron as he shoved it brutally up her ass. It was a testament to the distress that Kyla was in that she barely seemed to react to the brutal penetration… but instead of fucking her, that drow also began to piss. Then when he finished, another man took his place as well.

It went on and on for a long time. No breaks were taken from swelling Kyla’s lithe, girlish frame with urine. A helpless Ciliren could do nothing but continue her perpetual screaming. Her lamentations were like victory trumpets to them. But she could not stop – she was beside herself with grief and sorrow for her disfigured sisters cruel fate. She was supposed to have her sister with her! She was supposed to not be alone! They needed to finish… finish pissing in her while she was still alive! 

The line had begun moving again, but not far. She could still look back and watch… All of her attention on her brutally violated sister. It appeared the last of the soldiers had finally emptied his bladder inside her. Raelar’s drawn-out lesson was at last completed. Kyla now leaked urine from every orifice… but there was no pressure to the outflow any longer. No internal muscle contractions that sent piss gushing out of her flooded systems. Instead, runny yellow liquids leaked and sipped out of her urethra, mouth, anus, nose and as well as her ears at a slow, casual pace. Droplets of it even emerged as tears in her unmoving eyes. Her stomach was still horrifically bloated though – jam-packed with what could be a bathtub of salty urine. The ground around her now resembled a swampland of piss. The grass was all soggy and damp from the liquid masses that had escaped from her between sessions. 

The drow behind her released her skull… and no motion came from Kyla’s defiled and distended body. She knelt there as lifeless as a thoroughly saturated puppet. Raelar stepped over in front of his captive, and delivered a kick to Kyla chest that sent her bloated body falling to its back into the swampy ground. His dick was hard and eager, the bulbous head already glossy with pre-cum as he got down in-between the spread thighs of his no longer struggling rape-victim… and Ciliren was dragged away, still sobbing.

As she left the horror of her sister’s fate behind, Ciliren ignored the screams she could hear from all around her, faint and distant. They seemed like hollow, empty things, compared to the fate she had just witnesses for her sister, the knowledge she would have to live in the world that didn’t have Kyla in it. Slowly, however, she became aware enough of her surroundings to notice something odd – Wagons stacked high with coffins. She’d seen nothing in the drow that indicated they would care enough to bury even their own dead, let alone those of the kingdom they’d just crippled. Which made the presence of the coffins baffling, all the more so because there seemed to be so many of them. Perhaps a macabre method of transporting whatever treasures they’d looted from the city back to their own kingdom. The coffins were large and, judging by the fact that ogres were being tasked with hefting them up onto the reinforced wagons, they weighed a significant amount.

Ciliren discovered the true contents of the coffins soon enough as the drow tasked with escorting her and the three other captives beside her brought them to one of the partially loaded wagons. After what she had just witnessed, the elf thought that nothing would ever be able to horrify her again. She should not have underestimated the drow. Four oversized coffins were lined up and open, waiting for their arrival. Her muscles locked up as she peered into the wooden box, finding any elf’s worst nightmare waiting for her within. A troll, arms locked up across his chest, eyes bulging with psychotic mindlessness and bulging prick fully erect. It was a sight that had not been seen in the elvish lands for at least a thousand years. Their boundless egos had led the elves to believe they’d hunted the foul creatures into extinction, but instead, they’d simply driven then into the Underdark to be a burden on the drow. And while the trolls had caused the drow much strife over the years, they did possess a certain unique value that could be capitalized on.

Irae had done just that. Taking advantage of the trolls’ regenerative abilities, she’d had several thousand of the things captured and brutally tortured until they’d gone completely insane. From there, she’d had them securely bound and fitted into the specially designed coffins, where they could languish in the dark when they weren’t being used. Seeing the light again for the first time in quite a while, the trolls were quite excited. Doubly so as each one of them was gaining a roommate for the long trip back into drow territory. Ciliren remained frozen, watching as the captives beside her were bound up tightly before being lowered into the coffins. The trolls did not possess much range of movement, but they didn’t need it. The drow soldiers were kind enough to ensure that each of the women were securely stuffed onto an oversized troll prick before the coffin lids were slammed closed and sealed shut.

A terrible shuddering crept through Ciliren’s body as the soldiers started to bind her. Fear and hopelessness kept her feet planted where they were even as everything in her mind screamed at her to run. She could not take her eyes off the troll that she would soon be getting an intimate introduction to. He was lanky, the time in the coffin had softened much of his muscle definition. Not that it mattered. The only muscle she was concerned about still looked perfectly healthy. His cock was easily sixteen inches in length and as thick as her forearm at the slimmest point. Bulging veins crept down the length of his shaft, leading to the swollen purple head of his cock. It looked more like a huge clenched fist than any penis she’d laid eyes on before. How it was going to fit into her, she didn’t know, but she was filled with the terrible certainty that it would fit. As her future stared her in the face, a sudden, chilling realization crept through her. The screaming. The persistent howls of agony and terror permeating the air around her. She’d thought they’d been coming from Soleila, but they weren’t. They were coming from the sealed coffins, each of them containing an elf woman getting brutally raped by an insane troll.

Ciliren’s breath grew rapid as the drow hauled her towards the coffin waiting for her. She was turned away from the troll and lowered backwards into the open box. The thing’s warm flesh pressed against her backside, thick cock sliding between her thighs, already angled towards her defenseless slit. One of the drow soldiers slapped a handful of grease across her cunt to lubricate it in advance of the daunting penetration while another took hold of the troll’s dick in both hands to line up the tip with her pussy. With the alignment set, the drow moved back. One of them offered Ciliren a mocking wave goodbye before the lid was dropped closed, immersing her in darkness. The bang of the wood set the elf off, unleashing the screams trapped in her chest. She could feel the pulse of the troll’s member against her sensitive sex, primed to fuck its way into the tight sheath. The psychotic creature let out a disturbingly childish giggle, shifting from side to side beneath her before giving up on trying to get his arms free and instead focusing on the molestation he could give her. Flexing his hips, he rammed the fist-shaped head of his cock against her greased cunt lips, maintaining a firm pressure until the flesh parted for him. Ciliren’s eyes rolled back as her screams were momentarily fucked away, the battering ram of a cock bashing its way up through her cervix.

* * *

Ekyulei felt like she had no soul left. 

Her life had once been a proud thing. She had been born in the palace… not a royal, true, but she had grown up alongside them. Syllana had been her best friend… the two had grown up together, played together, been tutored together. When her friend had begun her martial training, putting herself on the path that would lead to her commanding the armies of Soleila, she hadn’t followed… but she had stayed close by joining the priesthood. Soon, her closeness to the royal family had paid off… she had earned a place in the palace chapel, maintaining its shrine to the Corona, close to those in power and away from the stiffling gaze of the high priestess. A place that let her indulge in her vices out of sight.

She had still… technically… been a virgin, but she and Syllana had spent many of their nights in bed together. It would have been forbidden if anyone knew, so they had kept it a secret. Her parents hadn’t even known. At a glimpse, people sometimes couldn’t have told her and the princess apart… she even had the red hair of the royal line that made the other princesses jealous. She had been a holy woman, a lover and a friend, an advisor to the royal family. She had been important!

Now she was a cock-sleeve.

Ekyulei had avoided death so many times already. Her minor magical talent had earned her her place in the city, rather than in an outlying town where the drow had struck first. Her friendship with the royal family and high birth had kept her in the palace, so she hadn’t died with the other priestesses to the assassins who roamed the city the night before the city was invaded. Her lack of martial strength, and the fact that she hadn’t had a weapon, had kept her from being summarily cut down when the palace was raided, or when the guards of the royals were executed. And her exquisite beauty had kept her alive through her captivity.

When she had first been raped, right in the palace chapel, Ekyulei had been forced to face facts – the real reason she hadn’t found the invaders, the real reason she hadn’t followed her friend into military service. There had been weapons in the chapel… magical artifacts of the royal line, sacred weapons that existed to defend the elven people. She could have picked one up and fought. Even if they had killed her for it, it would have been a better fate than a life of rape and slavery, certainly… 

But Ekyulei was a coward. 

As she had lay on the ground, weeping and begging for her life while a thick drow cock stole her virginity, she had realized that about herself. She was horrified by the thought of dying. She was under a century old… she could live to see a thousand! She couldn’t die practically a child! When their cocks came near her face, she opened her mouth. When they came near her hands, she stroked them. She was going to be the best whore in the world if it meant getting to live.

The next day, when the royals were being executed, she’d crawled between a dozen drow watching from the top of a building. The day after, when the drow had begun to be tired of simple rape, she had been their painslut… eagerly masturbating while they whipped her until she inspired them to fuck her again. And now, when she arrived at the wagons and saw the waiting trolls, she swore she would do anything, anything at all if they didn’t let those monstrous things rape her to death.

That was how, when the drow had promised to leave her behind in Soleila when they finished with her instead of having her endure the long ride back down to Menzoberranzan in the darkness and horror, Ekyulei had found herself laying on the back of one of the wagons with a drow shitting in her mouth.

The taste was indescribably foul… but she forced herself to swallow the whole thing, her fingers never stopping playing with herself. She had to cum… she had to cum before they finished using her like a toilet, or it would be down to the Underdark in the coffin for her. She tried to ignore the taste, the thought of what she was doing, but it was pervasive… it distracted her from even the shreds of pleasure she could get from playing with her sore, horribly raped hole. She wept as she swallowed, choking down the filth and hating every more with every passing second… but she wanted to live. Needed to live. She had already degraded herself so much… what was jsut a little bit more? If she could be free, it would all be worth it! She could see the coffin… her coffin with the troll inside, glaring at her eagerly.

The next drow moved up and took a piss on her face… it made an ever bigger mess in her mouth, but she was grateful that at least it gave her a few seconds longer to swallow before… 

He crouched down over her, and she squinted her eyes shut tight as she tried to ignore the smell and the taste. Cum you fucking whore, Ekyulei… cum you shit faced whore. Cum, cum, cum and live you worthless coward, you worthless whore. Cum… Her fingers fucked herself every bit as hard as any of the drow had. Cum Ekyulei, cum you little fucking whore or die like the rest of them, little shit faced cumming whore, cumming, cumming!

Ekyulei screamed around the shit in her mouth as her body jerked as she came to her own utter defilement, laying panting on the back of the wagon. She barely even noticed as the final drow moved over to use her as a latrine… it was strange, but she managed to take a little bit of pride in her utter lack of pride – her completely defilement and degradation. Most of the others were too proud to so degrade themselves… and where had it gotten them? A shallow grave, or a life as a fucktoy. Not her… she was going to be free. She didn’t even complain as the fifth drow filled her mouth with shit, even though she had already done what they asked.

Then they drow lifted her up and dragged her towards the open coffin.

“No!” she tried to scream around her mouth fuck of shit. “You promised! You promised!”

The drow soldier laughed as he bound her arms behind her back and began to push her into the open coffin. “I did… I promised you I’d leave you behind in the city when we left… and I will! I never said anything about saving you from the troll.”

Ekyulei screamed in horror as she felt the troll’s monstrous cock begin to impale her cum-slicked pussy. They were going to… leave her behind? Ties in this coffin with the troll… where no one would ever be coming back for her? “Please… take me with you!” she begged. “I can be a good slave! I’ll be the best whore in the whole city for you!”

The drow soldier just looked at her with disgust. “And who wants a whore with a mouth full of shit?” he asked. Then he closed the coffin. Ekyulei screamed as she heard the pounding as they sealed it with nails… then the heavy thud as they pushed her off the wagon to lie among the ruins of the city and the corpses of other elves.

Corpses like hers would be…

* * *

Vanya and Ahshala Moonshadow were marched down the line to be loaded into one of the coffins, being yanked forward on the chain as girl after girl disappeared into the monstrous boxes one at a time. Their parents had always told the twin sisters that they were even more beautiful than princesses Elasha and Elincia… and while neither had ever truly believed it, they had both enjoyed the compliments anyway, swelling with pride at their radiance and loveliness. The two dark-haired girls were close, but they didn’t actually have much in common besides their looks… while Vanya preferred running around outdoors and spending her times in the gardens and forests within the city, Ahshala preferred her books and her art.

So it wasn’t much a surprise that they had both been captured separately. The drow that had invaded the forests had found Vanya sleeping beneath her favorite tree, and had been happy to drag her down into the grass before raping her senseless. At almost the same time, in the craftsman section of the city, their home had been bursts into, and Ahshala has seen her father’s throat be cut right before her eyes, bleeding out onto her favorite book while she had her ass plundered for the first time.

Despite their separation, both girls had been beautiful enough to earn a stay of execution from the drow… it was only after they had both been brought out of the city and be loaded that someone had noticed that the sisters were twins. Just because the twins had been spared a brutal death, however, didn’t meant that they were intact. Even if their mother weren’t dead in a back alley with cum leaking from her raped cunt, she wouldn’t have been able to tell the twin sisters apart any longer… with their vacant demeanors and downcast moods, the twins were truly identical, everything that made them unique from one another seemingly having been raped out of them over the last pair of days. 

By the time they reached the end of the line, there was only one wagon left… one single coffin remaining with an especially large and vicious-looking troll inside it. The last one left.

The drow argued about which girl they should put in with the troll, while the aggressive, insane thing pulled against his chains, its cock hard as stone as it glared at both of the naked pieces of fuckmeat. Eventually, the drow shrugged and decided to stuff them both in together. The twin sisters were found together, their tits pressed together and looking into each others eyes as their limbs, hips, and necks were all bound together. To the delight of the amused drow, both of their captors had had the idea of sticking rings in the tongues of the twins, so those were chained together as well.

“Which one gets the cock?” one soldier asked.

“There’s a difference?” the other asked, chuckling.

The first looked at the two identical girls and smirked. “Guess not,” he agreed. He lifted the girls into the coffin, where the aggressive troll immediately began humping at them, banging his hips back and forth… and finding Vanya’s ass. The dark haired elf screamed as her asshole was stretched far behind anything the drow had managed to do it, the sounds of pain seeming to bring Ahshala back out of her stupor as well. The two girls and the troll only barely fit, and even with their limbs bound together much of them needed to crammed down to fit into the coffin, shoving them harder down into their tiny prison.

“See you in the underdark, fucktoys,” one of the drow mocked as he fit in the lid in place… needing to lean into it and crush it down to make everyone fit. A banging of nails sealed the lid in place, and locked the screaming sisters together in the dark. With two people in it, the coffin was unbalanced, so the ogres that lifted it up flipped the coffin in the process, so that the troll was chained to the top instead of the bottom.

Over the next few hours, Ahshala came slowly back to herself as he heard her sister scream and suffer… the pain and anguish of her raped sister bringing her out of her self pity. It was more than she could say for Vanya… the woman’s eyes were bugged out as she was raped over and over, the pounding that the troll gave her transferring to Ahshala through their bonds as her sister was smashed down against the bottom of the wooden coffin by the anal fucking. When her sister eventually stopped screaming, Ahshala could barely see her sister’s face in the darkness, but she could tell it wasn’t because she had gotten used to it, and the impacts of her body against her sister told it it wasn’t because the fucking had grown any less violent… her sister had just damaged her voice too badly to vocalize the pained scream still trying to escape her throat.

“Stahp et,” Ahshala begged with her bound tongue. “Yhor kellin er! Stahp!” 

If the troll could even understand her, he didn’t listen. He just kept fucking Vanya as hard as he could, cumming in her over and over again and never, ever stopping. Then cum splashed over Ahshala’s face, and horror swallowed the elf as she realized what had happened… the monster had pumped enough cum into her sister’s asshole that it was overflowing, coming out her mouth and dropping down all over Ahshala, into her open mouth and across her face. Then, five minutes later, it happened again. And again. And again. Ahshala started screaming for him to spare her sister, for him to stop…

Ahshala watched in horror as her twin sister, her best friend, was raped to death by by the vicious troll… feeling every vicious through as it banged her against the coffin’s side one thrust at a time. She couldn’t be sure exactly when it happened, but at some point the screaming elf girl noticed that her sister had stopped moving… that she couldn’t feel the rise and fall of her chest anymore. That her lips and tongue hung limp as cum dripped off of them as the troll came again and again. Her sister was dead.

Ahshala screamed in horror, begged Vanya to come back to her, not to leave her alone in this hell… but her sister was gone.

Not that it stopped the troll from raping her. He didn’t seem to even notice that he had fucked his plaything to death, and he was too bound in place to swap to fucking Ahshala even if he did… he just kept sinking his cock into the girl over and over, and making more cum pour out of her mouth and on her twin.

Ahshala promised her sister that she would survive. That she would find a way to escape this hell… that she would make Vanya’s sacrifice worth it. That was when she realized that she could feel the cum lapping against the sides of her face, her dark hair floating in the growing pool of it as she was battered down into it time and time again. The coffin wasn’t draining.

The dark haired elf tried everything. She tried kicking at the troll to make him stop, screaming at him, offering to do anything for him if he would only stop. Finally, as a last ditch effort, she even tried to to turn in the coffin, to put her sister on the bottom and offer her own ass to the troll rapist instead… but she couldn’t dislodge the unstoppable rape machine from inside her sister’s dead asshole. Finally, she was forced to just strain over and over to hold her head up as far as she could, being driven back down into the pool of troll cum with each battering thrust. Her dead sister leaked out another load of cum over her face, and Ahstala screamed in horror and despair as cum covered her lips and nose, sliding down her throat and making her swallow and swallow and swallow if she wanted to stay alive, stay breathing.

They had to be almost down to the city by now, right? It felt like it had been days and day… any minute now, the coffin lid would open and she would be taken from here. Any minute now, she would be safe, she thought as her eyes were covered by cum, leaving her truly blind in the darkness. She just needed to keep swallowing, keep swallowing… keep… swallowing… keep… swall…

* * *

Irae rode along the caravan, smiling as she watched the final elves be loaded up. They had run out of coffins half an hour ago. Not every single elf they had captured was riding in one… no small few had been claimed by an specific high ranked drow by now, and those were being kept seperate. Any of the others, however… well, if they didn’t have a coffin to go in, a troll to be raped by, her orders were clear. They weren’t coming. 

Ciliren had not been entirely wrong in her guess that the captured elf women would be used as breeding stock. Although the drow selection process for which elves to keep and which to kill had come down to random circumstance and inconsistent preference, it didn’t mean that all the captured women would be allowed to live the remainder of their lives as fuck-cattle. The drow had no interest in any of the women too weak to survive until the time to give birth arrived. Forcing them to make the long trip back to the Underdark being endlessly raped by the trolls would make for an effective test. It kept the captives secure and it ensured they would not have a moment of rest, thanks to the trolls’ broken minds and powerful regenerative stamina. Whether the elves lived or died was no real concern for the drow. On the contrary, the soldiers would no doubt spend the bulk of the return trip betting on how many of them would make it.

So they had needed to come up with a solution for the rest of them… and Irae approved of the one that soldiers had come up with. The wagons were all lined up now, one after the other, so they had tied the girls between the wagons. Arms to one side, feet to the other. Right now, they just hung there… but the wagons wouldn’t be staying this close together as they rode. One bump in the road, one change in speed, one different swerve at a time, the wagons would drift further apart… and rip the elf girls apart.

They knew it, too. They were all screaming, shouting, begging… loud enough to cover up the muffled screams of the thousands of coffins. Begging for an opportunity to be fucktoys instead, for mercy. The drow soldiers just laughed at them and pissed onto their faces and bodies from on top of the wagons… one final show of how worthless their light-skinned bodies were to them now. Irae gave the order to move on, and the pitch of the screams rose higher.

Irae grinned as she looked over her army filing out of the now dead elven capital city, one of the wagons already trailing the slowly dying torso of a girl ripped in two while the soldier began to bet with one another over who would be the last one alive. Their work in Soleila was done now. There was still much work to be done to conclude the eradication of these filthy surface dwellers… but things were off to a splendid start.


	10. The Chattel

This is an especially brutal story, filled with torture, rape, and snuff. Be sure this is a thing you want to read before continuing. 

**The First Day**

The dangers of the underdark went well beyond the drow. All kind of monsters lurked in the darkness, but the source of nearly all of them stemmed from the same source… Faerzress. No one knew where the magical mist came from… it was as old as the drow exile into the darkness. The old priestesses of Lolth had believes it was a test put down here by their goddess to make them strong. The priests of Vhaerun thought it part of their exile, a prison crafted for them by Corona and the other gods of the surface when the drow were cast down to make their lives worse. Still others thought it leaking of negative energy from the Plane of Shadow. 

No matter where the Faerzress, it changed everything it touched. It had turned the drow’s skin black and given them their resistance to magic. It had turned the orcs into hulking brutes, far larger than those on the surface. It had turned the monsters larger, the animals more ferocious, the plants more poisonous and less nourishing. It made the spiders enormous, the lizards ravenous, and the goblins more clever… and sometimes, it touched something truly dangerous.

Aurellia Esmet felt like she had been in her coffin for a decade. She had lived more than century of life… she had been an artist, a respected painted. She had had friends. A mother and father. A brother. It was increasingly hard to remember any of them. It was hard to remember that any of her century of life before the drow had happened… but she remembered when they had broken into her home all too well. Raping her ass. Making her lick their cum off their paintings. Hours and hours of depravity… hours in which she watched her city burn, her friends and family die, her race be crushed into oblivion. And then it was into the coffin with her, and her life had been replaced with a never-ending string of rapes by a monster. One after the other after the other after the other. To survive, she had drank the cum that leaked from her own holes… it had burned what was left of her pride, but her desire to live was stronger than her hatred of her life.

At first, she thought she was imagining it when the coffin was lifted… but then it was abruptly dropped on the ground, and she couldn’t have imagined that. They had arrived! She was going to be let out! Despite her terror, she was glad… surely nothing could be worse than the coffin… days or weeks or years stuck in the dark confined space with a monster with a truly unquenchable sexual appetite. At least the drow… even hundreds of drow, all planning on using her… had to rest sometime. The troll didn’t… she passed out with it fucking her, and woke with it still fucking her. It’s cock hadn’t been out of her body for a single second the entire time she had suffered in the darkness.

Almost lustfully, Aurellia waited for the lid to be torn off. She would throw herself into the arms of the drow, promise to be the best slave in the entire world if they would keep her away from the troll. Hell, she’d fall to her knees without them needing to say a word and swallow their cocks, without any guarantees, just for the chance she would be spared. 

But the lid didn’t move.

Horror began to grow as she felt the rumble of the wagon through the earth. It was… leaving! Leaving her here! She had horrible visions of herself trapped in this coffin for all time, licking at the cum of this monster to stay alive and never being found. Why? Why would they abandon her?

The troll came six more times before she heard the scrape at her lid. Twice more after that before Aurellia became sure she wasn’t imagining it. Three more times before she noticed the coffin begin dragged across the ground. By that point, she didn’t care what it was outside… so long as it opened the lid and let her out, it could be anything in the world and she would love it for eternity. 

The damned troll was still violently humping away when the lid was ripped off. After the coffin, even the phantom phosphorescence of the cavern seemed blinding, and she needed to blink dozens of times as her sensitive eyes adjusted, taking in her surroundings… and then blink a dozen more as she struggled to understand what she was seeing. The cavern was enormous… the size of the forest in the center of Soleila, at least, and it filled with one, massive tree. Thousands and thousands of branches spiraled off of it, diving down towards the ground, plunging through the rock and erupting back up to form a mass of vines and branches and tendrils so thick that not even the faintly glowing leaves could let her make any sense of what was happening here. What she could see, however, were the women.

Drow women.

They were suspended in mid air by vines wrapped around arms and legs and throats, holding them up… and plunging into them. Something wet splashed against Aurellia’s face, and looking up she saw a lithe drow woman just ten feet above her, her cunt and asshole both speared by thick vines of the massive plant. Her belly was swollen as if she were six months pregnant, and her tits were leaking… that was what had splashed her. Everywhere Aurellia looked, there were women hanging from the tree… mostly drow, but a few other surface elves. Even as she watched, one was ripped out of a coffin and yanked screaming into the air where she was immediately impaled.

Then a vine wrapped around her ankle.

Aurellia tried to run but it was far too late, had been too late from the moment she was put into the coffin. She screamed as she was hoisted upside down into the air, dangling from her ankle as she felt the first of the plant’s thousand “cocks” find her pussy and shove into her. Her screams rose as another “cock” drove into her asshole with equal vigor, and then cut off a moment later as a third buried itself down her throat.

The poor elf had no knowledge of this place, no way of knowing its history. How the remains of a greater demon of Jubilex had been slain on this spot and had been consumed by spreading plants. How the Faerzress had touched it and reawakened that demon’s spirit, filling the tree with it. How it had grown and grown, inching closer and closer to Menzoberranzan and revenge on the drow that had slain it. How the drow had sacrifice captives for it to play with for six centuries… and how, in the wake of the rebellion, they had found that it preferred female captives, how it could be distracted far more thoroughly by them… and how there were other benefits.

Aurellia had gotten her wish… she was free of the troll. She was about to learn, however, that her idea of endless rape was in for some cruel adjustment.

* * *

**The Third Year**

Ciliren Naera hurried after Istroos Abaeir, at least, as much as anyone could hurry while crawling. If she fell too far behind, she’d be punished… and her scars from her last punishment still hadn’t healed. Obeying her owners didn’t stop them from hurting her, nothing did that, but they hurt her as a matter of course… punishment was something else. Ciliren hated herself for it, but she found herself genuinely thankful when they just hurt her a little these days, rather than genuinely punishing her for a failure.

Three years in Menzoberranzan had changed Ciliren. She was pretty sure the death of her sister and the weeks spent in that coffin had driven her mad because she couldn’t remember much of the city of her birth any longer… whenever she tried to think of a temple, a store, a house back in Soleila, her mind conjured images of the drow city that was her new dungeon instead. It was like the drow had raped her memories as thoroughly as the rest of her – she no longer had a home to return to even in her mind. She had trouble remember who she was, what she had been… she had worked in the city, hadn’t she? Some kind of… artisan, right? She couldn’t summon up any memories of performing her work, either – whenever she tried, she just saw herself on her knees, sucking an endless string of black-skinned cocks.

In fact, there was only one part of her own life she got to hang onto…

Istroos pushed open the door into the room in the center of their family house, not bothering to hold it open for Ciliren… she needed to spring forward on hands and knees fast enough to bruise her own limbs to catch the door before it closed and locked her out. Sliding into the room, the elf was stunned as always as she looked around it. From her understanding it used to be a temple to the dark goddess of the drow, before they had forsaken her… now it was a temple only to pain.

Aunrae Abaeir was here, like always… the drow woman was rarely permitted to leave this room. Drow women were far more valuable slaves these days, due to their shorter supply and their purity, unlike worthless fuckdolls like Ciliren. No one bothered to steal an elf slave… but men had been murdered to steal the drow women they owned. The boys were quite protective of their mother.

Not that they treated her much like their mother anymore. A mother, certainly… but not theirs.

Aunrae was the most beautiful woman that Ciliren had ever seen… even through the dark skin that made her shudder from memories of her captors. The fallen drow priestess had a body that swelled in all the right places, narrowed in all the others, and her faith was absolutely gorgeous. She didn’t look like a woman nearly two centuries Ciliren’s senior.

She was also, for a rarity, not pregnant. 

Aunrae was on her knees with her hands bound behind her back, getting fucked up her ass by her grandfather while her son choked her with long strokes of his cock. Her dark skin was covered head to toe with darker welts, showing Ciliren clearly that they had been working the drow over for hours before calling for her. There was no fight left in Aunrae anymore… they didn’t beat her to force her obedience. They just did it because they enjoyed making her scream.

The groan and gagging noises were the only sign that Vuznet was making his mother swallow his load. Istroos kicked Ciliren forward. “You’re up, whore,” he growled as his grandfather finished fucking the dark skinned elf and letting her fall to the stone floor.

Ciliren crawled forward, trying not to seem too eager. She hated almost everything, every single thing, about her life… but this part… this she could live with. Her ass swayed back and forth as she crawled, and even though her belly wasn’t showing yet with the half-drow child these bastards had put in her her tits had already begun to swell, bouncing as she crawled towards Aunrae. If she did her task quickly enough, they might even feed her today… that bland bread was the only thing slaves ever got to eat that counted as real food, but it tasted better than the cum, shit, and piss she needed to subsist on the rest of the time. Dropping onto the floor next to the drow woman, Ciliren spread her cheeks, and pushed her tongue into the drow woman’s ass.

That was all women were good for now in Menzoberranzan… entertainment, and breeding. The problem for Abaeir family was that, after being fucked repeatedly for years and bred a half dozen times, Aunrae’s cunt no longer met their standards. Thankfully, they had a solution in the form on Ciliren. The elf began to suck and lick, eating out the woman’s ass and sucking out a dozen or more loads of cum that her family had poured into her tight back hole. Drow cum filled her mouth, and she shuddered, but she was careful not to swallow any… that would lead to punishment, and the elf knew that she wasn’t the first slave that they had purchased for this job. On her very first day here, she had watched her predecessor be beaten to death for failing to move all the cum into Aunrae. She hated having their cum in her mouth, but the rest of it was worth it…

Once Ciliren’s mouth was full and she was reasonably sure that she couldn’t get any more from her ass, Ciliren pulled back, put her mouth again Aunrae gorgeous cunt, and began to push the cum into her. To the drow, it was a degrading task… using her mouth to help them getting their breeding bitch pregnant. Thankfully, they didn’t realize that Ciliren preferred the company of women to that of men, even before having been raped, and she thought that Aunrae was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Sure, she was a drow as well, but it was hard to hold that against the woman, not when she was treated just as badly by their captors as the surface elves were. She felt a kind of… kinship with the beautiful drow woman… enough so that as she obviously pushed cum into the woman’s cunt, she swallowed some, making it as subtle as possible. It wasn’t much, but maybe he could give her some time between needing to be bred… it was the greatest gift she could offer the other victim. 

Then it was back to her ass to suck out the rest. Then push it into her cunt as well. She was active with her tongue as she did it, trying to give the woman a bit of pleasure, and she smiled as she tasted her wetness. Then came the time to bathe the woman with her tongue, licking up the cum stuck onto her dark skin and relocating it to her pussy as well. Then it was time for what she had swallowed.

Ciliren kissed Aunrae, driving her tongue into the other woman’s mouth… and if she wasn’t anywhere near as enthusiastic about the kiss as Ciliren was, it was only because they both knew what was coming next. Diraen drove his boot into Aunrae’s stomach, making the woman wretch… but while she moaned in misery, the contents of her stomach stayed within her. It took four more kicks before she finally vomited up the pile of cum in her stomach into Ciliren’s mouth. The surface elf, twisted as her mind was, tried to forget that it was drow cum filling her mouth and just take enjoyment of the soft lips of the drow woman against hers. She swallowed a bit of the cum, but she didn’t mind as she sank back down, resuming the process of licking at Aunrae’s snatch as she pushed the cum into her, working at her clit… and smiling as she felt the drow woman softly orgasm beneath her tongue… glad that she could give her sister in suffering at least a little bit of pleasure.

She felt like she could love this woman. The world had sank into hell for all elves, and the female drow had joined them there, but even in hell there were at least shreds of pleasure that they could find. Together, they could take at least a little bit of pleasure in their degradation. What tiny shred of solace they could take was surely welcome. Compared to the brothel she had been in before being bought and branded, this was almost an ideal life.

“She swallowed some of the cum,” Aunrae said, leaning back and wrapping her thighs around Ciliren’s head.

Ciliren froze. What? Why? Why would she… The elf looked up at the drow woman, up over her cunt to her face, and saw the hatred in her eyes, the superiority, the vicious pride that drove the drow woman to make herself higher than the one person she could, to put at least someone below her… to inflict some of the pain given to her onto someone else.

“Stupid cunt,” Istroos growled as he grabbed Ciliren by her blonde hair and began to drag her away…

* * *

Koszar had promised death. Tali wished with all her being that he had been honest.

After she had been butchered by Shelan, the dying air elemental had been imprisoned in an airtight box, longing for death to end her pain but unable to die until they reached Menzoberranzan. She hadn’t know why he bothered… he expected that she was just going to be killed, and wished that if he was going to do it, he could at least let her die in the open air. Unfortunately, he had a different fate in mind for her.

No one had bothered to explain the details to Tali. No one bothered to tell how how after they had been fed so many Drow women during the rebellion that the spiders had grown used to it. No one bothered to tell her how the faith in Lolth and her spiders had waned and fallen in the city with the death of its matriarchy. No one bothered to tell her how increasingly no one had enough captives to sacrifice to them for a place to lay their eggs. Koszar had just taken the limbless air element out in the cavern, dug a hole in the rock with his magic, and dumped her facefirst into it.

He stopped paying attention to her then. She was free… she could escape… if only she weren’t crippled. As much as she longed to dissolve into Wind and just disappear from this horrid place, she couldn’t… not while she was incomplete. She needed to heal. She needed the wind, needed a breeze to blow across her so that she could gather her strength, so she could draw it into herself and repair her severed winds and her shattered power… but she was deep, deep underground. There was so wind… the air was stale and stagnant, unmoving, unliving. There was nothing here to restore her.

She could see right through her own nearly transparent body, out in the cavern… or had once been able to. Now all she could see was the eggs that filled her… and the giant spiders.

She heard the tap-tap-taping of eight legs across the stone, and she started to squirm, trying hopelessly once again to get free. “Don’t!” she begged. “Stop, please by the by the father of storms show some sense! It won’t fit! It won’t!” She wasn’t exaggerating. She could see her belly distended horribly, swollen and painfully stretched… could see the piles of eggs pushing her outward, making her gaseous skin stretch horrifically. “You’ll kill me, you dumb animals!” she screamed. “You’ll kill me! Stop it!” 

What little light there was in the cavern vanished as the spider blocked it out, and Tali screamed as she felt the ovipositor slid into one of her holes – her ass this time – pushing eggs to the side to make room and spreading her already stuffed body even further. “It won’t fit!” she wailed. “It won’t fit… there’s no room, pleasepleasepleasepl- aaaaaagh!” Her begging cut off in a wail as more eggs shoved their way into her, and Tali felt her already impossibly pained body stretch even further. “Nonononopleasenoooooo…” Thump. Thump. Thump. She gasped with each new egg as it forced its way into into her, making room by pushing other eggs somewhere even deeper into her body. 

Then the ovipositor withdrew from her, and Tali had a second of relief. As much as she hated it, this had become almost normal for her life. The eggs hatched inside her nearly as quickly as new ones were pushed in. She could feel them… it was the only thing she could feel most times except for the pain. A million tiny feet, dancing across her insides. A million tiny bites as they tried and failed to find something to eat in their insubstantial flesh. They covered every inch of her, inside and out, save for her head – the one bitter mercy of being buried in the earth like this.

Tali got to think that maybe she was going to escape further torment, save for the everpresent sensations inside of her, for all of ten seconds before she realized that she could hear more spiders. “Noooooooooooo, it won’t, you can’t, you ca-” The next ovipositor was shoved into her, and move eggs came. And more. And more. She had stopped begging, stopped screaming. She just sobbed brokenly as her limbless body was somehow, impossible, stuffed further full. This was hell, this was so much worse than Shattering. Tali longed for death. 

Thump, thump, thump. Scream. Egg after egg forced its way into her until that spider was spent. Then it withdrew and another one started depositing eggs into her cunt. Then another in her ass. Over and over, each egg making her feel like she was going to burst. 

When the eggs started to be pushed out her other end, Tali didn’t realize what was happening at first. She felt an uncomfortable sensation in her throat, a choking feeling… not something that Wind had ever thought she would have a problem with. To her horror she realized that she had been filled so thoroughly that some of the oldest eggs inside her had been forced through her entire intestinal tract and were now starting to push up her throat and into her mouth.

A couple spiders later and her cheeks were already bulging with eggs, her lips stretched painfully wide around them. They pressed against her tongue, forcing her to taste the evidence of their long journey inside her. And even as she tried to adjust to this new indignity, she felt one of them start shaking, and then another, and another.

About to hatch.

Tali tried to scream, but all that came out of her stuffed mouth were soft, desperate sounds heard by no one. That and, a few seconds later and for the next several weeks straight, spiders.

* * *

Narbondel was the only uncut surface inside the city of Menzoberranzan proper. A huge stalagmite reaching all the way to the cavern ceiling, it served a useful purpose for the city. The drow could see heat, so by tradition, the cities archmage would go the base stalagmite at “midnight” and start a fire that would slowly move the head up to the top of the pillar and then back down. In that way, the massive pillar would be used as the city’s clock. As Archmage that should have been Grompf’s job, but after the city’s fall he had grown increasingly disinterested in his duties, so he had passed on the responsibility to his second… and Koszar Nirune knew exactly how he wanted to fulfill the duty.

Qi found herself bound to the base of Narbondel by bonds of a strange metal that did not burn, her arms and legs buried deep inside the pillar… the better to apply her heat to it. Every day, at midnight, Koszar would come by to rape her. That was her instruction to begin a new cycle of burning… to burn and burn and burn until the pillar was filled with her heat. Then, if she did it well enough, she would have a hour or so each day when she didn’t need to blaze like an inferno… she would merely need to burn like a torch. Putting her flame to such a mundane use would have been humiliating enough… but of course Koszar hadn’t left it there.

Somehow, the mage had found a way to change the binding that tied her to the elf’s physical form. For her entire life, Qi had never felt the kiss of her own flames. She did now. Her flames licked across her face and hair and breasts, and it burned her… agonizingly. During the hot hours, when she lit Narbondel, her entire body burned away, scorched black until there was nothing but ashes, leaving nothing but a screaming, bodyless torch in the darkness in the vague shape of a woman. It was only during the slow hours, when she didn’t need to heat it any longer, than her body slowly regenerated… just in time for Koszar to rape it again. Occasionally, he brought Shelan with him… using her to clean her up after he finished. The woman was a wreck, even more filthy that she had been on the surface, and the only hope that Qi could have was that someday the wizard would die… and perhaps his successor would not bind her lover so competently. Maybe then she could escape.

But Qi never would. These bindings… they seemed indestructible, and they held massless, formless flame motionless in their grip.

She could see Koszar approaching now, striding through the streets with a smile as he headed for the pillar. It was nearly midnight.

Almost time to burn.

* * *

**The Fourth Year**

Aurellia was certain she was going insane.

She had thought that when she was in the coffin her existence had existed of nothing but fucking. She had no idea how wrong she had been. She had been able to feel the coffin around her. She had been able to move, been able to struggle. The troll had only been able to reach one of her holes. She had been able – forced, really – to lick up cum to stay alive. She had been able to have a miserable existence, but an existence.

Now she wasn’t so lucky. 

All three of her holes were constantly stuffed, and she couldn’t even feel the walls of her cunt or ass anymore… it felt like they had been rubbed raw years ago. The only thing she ever got to eat was the sappy excretions of the plant, and even those were pumped directly down her throat by the vine fucking her face… she never even got to taste it. She couldn’t move, couldn’t squirm, couldn’t speak or beg or scream. She could see, but the only thing she could see was thrashing vines and other raped women with their bellies and tits swollen. In fact, the only time she didn’t have three cocks in her was when she was giving birth to whatever this monstrosity was pumping into her.

She hadn’t ever even seen what it was that came out of her. She had seen dark shapes dropping from the forms of the other women down to the floor, and she thought she had seen drow soldier moving below, collecting whatever she was birthing, but whatever it was it wasn’t an elf. The pregnancy was too fast… whatever it was took only two weeks to grow to the size of a full grown baby before her body forced it out in a painful process. It didn’t even pause in raping her ass and mouth while she had the monster’s baby… and it barely waited until it had dropped free before a vine was stuffed back up her cunt and began the process of impregnating her once again.

That had been bad enough… but after the first year, it had started fucking her with multiple tentacles at once. She had tried to scream for the first time in months as it worked on stuffing a second tentacle cock up her ravaged asshole, but she had been just as incapable as the last five hundred times she had tried. She wept as her asshole was pummeled, but she hadn’t had any real water to drink in a year – the tears more closely resembled the tree’s nectar. But she couldn’t see that, either. Couldn’t wipe them away or taste them. Couldn’t experience anything but her constant string of rapes.

Just this last year, it had worked a second tentacle down her throat, and a third into her ass. It had tried multiple times with each before, but hadn’t managed to make room. It was evidence of just how thorough her constant rape has broken her that they fit inside her now. She could have been here for a hundred years or for a thousand… she no longer had any sense of time. She seemed to be being kept intact, kept fed, kept healthy… and unless complications from her birth doomed her, she would be here for a very, very long time. Elves had been known to live a thousand years, if they were lucky… or unlucky. 

And after spending years in the clutches of the demon tree, Aurellia was pretty sure she was the least lucky elf in the world. She would be like this forever, she knew… she would be the longest lived elf in history, suffer more than any other member of her dying race. Be raped until the sun died and abandoned this world. Every single day would be like this one… until one was different.

She was well into one of her pregnancies when she caught sight of drow soldiers for sure around her… soldiers with axes. She hoped they would cut off her head. Instead, they cut through the vines, severing them, freeing her for the first time since she had been captured in Soleila. Then they had put her onto the back of a spider-lizard with them and, surprisingly gently, escorted her into the city. She saw horrific sights everywhere she looked… women walking on leashes with tails of rotting animal fur protruding from their assholes, heads on spikes somehow finding the oxygen to scream, public rapes of women in the market squares. She tried to look away, but everywhere she looked there was a more horrible thing to see. Awful as it was, she was afraid to close her eyes – Aurellia was convinced that if she opened her eyes, she would find herself back in the clutches of the demon tree. 

The soldiers brought her to a mansion, guarded by hundreds of soldiers… and that was where she met Krizoz Flaeran for the first time. Even a glance at him told her that he was highborn – his clothing all trimmed with silver, his cheeks sharp enough that it felt like it cut her eyes to look on them. His voice, however, was calm and soothing as he spoke to her. She was his now, he told her. She was safe and under his protection.

She thought that meant he was going to be the only one to rape her, but she was again surprised. The soldiers took her to room – a far more luxurious room than she had ever had in Soleila – and brought her clothing, medicine, water, and food. The clothing was spun of spider silk and felt like the softest thing to ever touch her skin. When one of the soldiers spread her legs, she was sure she was about to be fucked again, but instead he began to apply the cream inside her ravaged holes… and within a few minutes she began to be able to feel them again. The water was the sweetest thing she had ever tasted, and while the crumbling roll of bread was bland, it was real food… real food, for the first time in years.

And no one raped her that night. Or the next. Or the next. She was beginning to feel that perhaps she had been wrong… perhaps luck had not abandoned her completely… when her stomach churned and she began to give birth. She saw one of the abominations that had been growing in her womb for years for the first time… a tree, vaguely shaped like a female elf child with flaking, starchy skin. In the time it took for the guards to realize what had happened, and to come and take it away from the stunned woman, it had grown into a tree almost as tall as she was. She had no idea what those abominations were, but she was glad to be rid of it… even if it had come from her womb.

* * *

**The Fifth Year**

Koszar Nirune sighed as he slowly rose from his desk, closing the book he had been studying. The book was one of the many spellbooks that Grompf forbade, that of course meant that Koszar needed to know what was in it. He had to admit, the works of this “Karsus” were fascinating. With the room so quiet, he could hear the muffled wails coming from the stone statue he kept by the window, looking out over the stone cavern that held Menzoberranzan within it… outside, visible on Narbondel, they both could see Qi burning brightly at the bottom, and seeing her burning all made Lei’s burns hurt all the more, leaving the crippled elemental screaming. 

His favorite statue had lost little of her appeal in the intervening years. With her body fused into some solid hunk of alluring stone, he didn’t need any magic to bind her any longer… he could just leave her there, an ornamentation more than a person. An entertaining ornamentation, though. Most would have a hard time getting use out of her in this state, but Koszar prided himself on his ingenuity. Turning her into a softer form would have been simply enough, but he liked her immobile and helpless… so he had found his own solution, as the dozens of cracked holes in her body gave testament to. A simple transmutation, and his cock was quite literally harder than iron and utterly irresistible… and he could use it on her even in this state.

Of course, her cunt and ass had suffered first. With her standing like this both of her holes were reachable from behind, and he had enjoyed drilling into her, enjoying hearing the way the stone cracked at each thrust and how Lei’s rising screams, even muffled by her stone prison, grew to cover those cracking sounds up. Unfortunately, there had only been so many times he could fuck those holes before they started to get loose and broken. He could have restored her body enough that she could heal herself, but where would the fun in that be? Instead, when he ran out of pleasant holes to fuck, he had simply made more.

Her belly was covered by five holes of shattered stone now, marking where he had drilled his cock into the rock to use her entire body like a fleshlight. Her breasts had a pair, one below the orb and the second right through her nipple. He had found that fucking as ass itself was just as much fun as fucking her asshole… him cum was still leaking from that cracked hole from earlier. 

Koszar sighed. He was getting distracted, and he really did need to study these arcane theories if he was ever going to kill Grompf and take his position. He didn’t have time to fucking Lei again right now. Still, it was growing late, and the wine had been going right through him…

He walked over to the chamberpot, lifting off the lid he kept over it. Koszar groaned with released pleasure as he let his bladder go, his piss hitting the surface of the water within with a splash. He really need need to breed himself an heir one of these days. Some of the drow women were kept for public rental these days, specifically for that purpose. Expensive, to rent one for the full year it would take him to breed her, but he could more than afford it. Besides, if it were a daughter, he could sell her back for another year. He knew that the mage school, Sorcere, had enslaved all the female mage students themselves during the rebellion and kept them… their gifts too rare to waste on the common population. Maybe he would get one of those… as a Master of the city’s mage tower, he would have the right.

He shook his cock, forcing the last few drops out to splash down into the chamberpot. Thinking about one of the drow mages serving his cock for a year had him hard, so he supposed he could do with a bit of a distraction. “Get up,” he ordered. “And leave the shit behind. I don’t want you making a mess on the floor again.”

Shelan rose slowly up out of the formless pool he usually kept her in, stepping out of the chamberpot before sinking down to her knees before him… the picture of a well-broken slave. Only the tears still filling her eyes showed how much this bothered her still, how much she hated it. She looked pristine on the outside, cloaked in a clear layer of clean water that he gave her once a week for his own comfort, but inside of that he could see the piss, the cum, the mess. Once in a while, he would let her lose some of the waste she carried around… but never the cum. For the rest of her life, she would be forced to carry around every single load one of her rapists had ever shot into her.

Koszar pointed at the desk, and Shelan began to crawl towards it, slipping underneath it as the drow wizard sat down before the book again. Her mouth closed over his cock without a word, silently sucking at him while he got back to reading… as best as he could while distracted by the elemental’s talented mouth. While he could have used the binding on her to perform the actions exactly the way he thought she should on a second to second basis, it would have been an unnecessary distraction. In the last five years, he had taught her exhaustively everything there was to know about cocksucking… as it turned out, when a girl was boiled for the slightest mistake, she became extremely well motivated to become the best little cocksucker in the underdark. At this point, Shelan knew what he wanted better than he did.

Koszar leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and smiled. This was perfect.

* * *

**The Seventh Year**

Nakiasha Liarel writhed in the thin dirt of the underdark, her entire body shuddering as she came… again. 

She hadn’t come down to Menzoberranzan in a coffin. Instead, the goblins under chief Tashiatka had declared the disgraced archer their property, and smuggled her into their gear, walked down into the darkness with the elf carried between them under a blanket. Down in the slave pens, the goblins had bartered with their overseer, paying him in trinkets to turn a blind eye to the slave elf that the slave goblins were not supposed to have. She had considered herself lucky… the goblins were nowhere near as violent to her as most of the other races were to her sisters. She still considered herself lucky… she thought… but now she wasn’t so sure.

The goblins loved playing with her body. Not even necessarily raping her, although they did plenty of that as well… playing with her. These goblins were far, far smarter than those she had heard about the surface – they were inventors, tinkers, and experimenters, and they loved using their most recent creations on her. And they liked making her cum.

At first, that hadn’t seen so bad. On the surface, she had never gotten any real attention. Now she had too much, but… it was hard to hate, even if it was unwanted. All she needed to do was listen, and she could hear the screams of hundreds of women within earshot that weren’t so lucky. 

The problem was, they never let her stop.

Someone had brought an alchemist’s stock the attention of the goblins, and they hadn’t stopped experimenting with the potions ever since. Already Tashiatka was proving himself as clever as a master alchemist of the elves, and he was growing better and better with each day – discovering how potions interacted, and how to intensify them beyond anything that that Nakiasha could have imagined. They had always loved making her shudder and lose herself in pleasure whether she wanted to or not… but a year ago, Tashiatka had produced a potion of his own design.

That was when things had gotten bad.

He called it “Phoenix’s Kiss…” The goblin believed it might be the most powerful aphrodisiac ever made. Nakiasha could believe it. Even seconds after he had squirted the first bit of it onto her tongue, Nakiasha felt like her entire body was on fire. When someone even brushed her with their fingers, it felt like the flames spread outward from that tough in rippling waves. She found herself nearly cumming when a goblin touched her arms, or legs, or face… and when they so much as brushed her tits she came screaming. However, that wasn’t even the best part, as far as they were concerned. The real best part was that it only affected women. 

When Tashiatka spread some on his cock, at first she was just glad that her rapists were using lube for a change. That opinion had changed almost immediately as he shoved himself into her ass and the drug was absorbed along with the thrust. Nakiasha felt her sanity shatter on that that very first pump as she came, one continuous orgasm that didn’t top until long, long after he had finished ass-fucking her. She had slowly put herself back together after that, taking long minutes to remember who she was, where she was, what her name was. Then the next one had raped her and she had lost it all again. She came and came and came until her muscles felt like solid knots, until her back arched from arcing, until it was hard to breathe and the pleasure was literally suffocating her. Then the next day, he came back with a modified dose, and they began testing that on her as well. And then the next. And the next. 

By now, the effect was permanent. Even when she wasn’t being touched, being drugged, her body felt mad with ripples of pleasure coursing through her. Just rolling on the ground send shudders through her, and the breeze across her clit made her cum. Nakiasha had lost herself completely. She couldn’t remember anything about her life before this anymore… she couldn’t remember anything but the last orgasm, and that the next one was just ahead. She slept when she passed out, and woke when she came so hard that she couldn’t sleep through it anymore. And Tashiatka kept coming up with stronger and stronger doses. 

In intermittent burst of sanity, she had enough of a mind to realize that this was going to kill her. That her brain was all but melting behind the senstion… that she would become a braindead husk, or just die of a heartattack. Unfortunately, she was wrong. She had no way of knowing it had already been seven years like this… that the potion the goblins had been giving her for the last years was keeping her alive, keeping her mind intact enough to appreciate what was being done to her. The years since she had first taken the Phoenix’s Kiss felt like one long day, one string of orgasms that seemed to last forever. She might go insane, but she was trapped in that insanity, unable to escape her awareness of what was being done to her.

And, as she looked up and saw the goblins approaching with todays new dose, Nakiasha shuddered and came again at the mere thought of her coming defilement, and she couldn’t remember why she would want to.

* * *

**The Eighth Year**

“That’s right…” Master Phentix Nitherag said, gesturing with his hands. “Set it down there… gently now… gently…”

The pair of stone golems obeyed every word and gesture, lowering the wrought-iron box to the stone floor with a clang. Phentix smiled… this would be the one, he was sure of it. He ran a hand over the metal surface of the prison, certain that this would be the one to succeed… and ignoring the furious growls coming from the air holes in the box. “You’ve come an awfully long way, friend,” he said affectionately as he looked at the box with a wide smile. He looked back at the golems. “Take him to room 43. I’ll find a subject for him.”

As the golems lifted the furiously shaking box, Master Phentix shook his head in happy consideration of the obvious strength and vitality of the creature. He lived a blessed life… how many others got to study the passion of their lives? Other Masters of Sorcere wasted their time studying arcane formulae and ancient dusty tomes… vying for rank in the wizard’s tower. Phentix was after far more interesting fare – the secrets of life itself.

He whistled happily as he strode down the hallway, deeper into his laboratory… plucking a sheaf of paper from the hands of his research assistant as he did and flipping through the notes. He frowned as he noted at that he was almost out of research subjects again… he would need to remind the brothels of his standing offer. Still, he had enough for the moment. He noted an instructions to his assistant to have food brought to cell 12… she looked healthy enough, and he wanted to put his best foot forward. Then he went to see her himself.

He could see the elf right through the wall, although she couldn’t see him… curled up on the ground and softly weeping as she stuffed her face with one of the slave-bread rolls that made up the majority of the feed for the slaves in the city. Her left arm was blackened and shriveled, and the left side of her face was equally burned and ruined. Someone had played with fire with this one, and gotten out of hand. After a slave was this badly damaged, the brothels had little use for her but to try to charge a nominal fee to let something murder her for fun. Phentix had a standing offer to all the brothels in the city, however – he would purchase any disfigured or ruined girl, so long as she was otherwise healthy. The slave brand on her had been burned off in the same accident that had maimed her, but her papers gave her name as Deidala… and to Phentix’s eyes, the important parts of her for his work appeared to be in good shape. She would do.

“Deliver her to room 43,” he instructed his research assistant. “But don’t open the gate until I arrive. Then join me at room 1.” He sighed as he picked up another sheaf of paper. Duty before pleasure, he reminded himself. He might be excited about his newest subject, but first he needed to collect data on the rest of his subjects. So, one by one, he walked past the first 42 rooms, looking into them through the one-way walls that made up their imprisonment and recording data on what he saw.

His subject of study… his passion… was chimeric creatures. There was something about them, some combination of magic and biology that allowed impossible physiology to emerge… somewhere in there, he was sure, was the secret of life itself. He had to know what conditions allowed that chimeric process to happen. He needed to create his own hybrids and observe it, see how it happened, what process permitted it. He would find it… he knew he would. It was just a matter of persistence. 

So, outside of room one, he calmly made notes as a screaming brunette elf was raped by an owlbear.

The creature dwarfed the elf that it was ramming its cock into, outweighing her by thousands of pounds and using that mass to hammer her with his cock. Drugs put into its food ensured that it was always prepared to breed, and going to do its very best job to put a baby in that elf’s womb. Feathers covered the thick, shaggy coat of its bear-like body, and the limpid pupils of its great round eyes stared furiously from its beaked owlish head as it glared down at its mate. The owlbear’s reputation for ferocity, aggression, stubbornness, and sheer ill temper makes it one of the most feared predators of the wild, but it was their sheer strangeness that attracted Phentix to the creatures.

A simple spell told him everything he needed to know… she wasn’t pregnant yet. Maybe this rape would be the one. He had high hopes for his owlbear… unlike the subject in room 5. The Chimera had three elves in there with him, one for each of his three cocks… experience had taught him that if he put fewer than three with it, the heads would fight over the subjects and they were unlikely to survive the ensuing struggle. It was easiest just to give the beast a elf fucktoy for each dick. The large monstrosity was an especially monstrous combination of creatures… It has the hindquarters of a big goat and the forequarters of a great lion. It’s dragon wings flapped idly as it fucked, and it had three heads: that of a horned goat, a maneless lion, and a fierce dragon. Currently, the goat was sleeping… and so was its plaything, lucky girl. The other two were not so fortunate.

The chimera had been one of his oldest subjects, and unfortunately at this point Phentix was sure that if it was capable of breeding with elves under any combination of drugs and magical conditions, his testing would have exposed it by now. The subject was a dud… but it was so happy with its fucktoys that it seemed a shame to take them away… they would be there for the rest of their lives. Still, he cast his spell again and confirmed none of them had managed to get pregnant. 

It wasn’t until he got to room 20 that he ran into something that broke the routine. He sighed in disgust as he watched the Wyvern rape a limp corpse. “What number was this one? 11?”

“12” his assistance said, making a note on the paper.

“Up the dose on his drugs again,” Phentix ordered, “and arrange for number thirteen to be delivered tomorrow.” He watched the winged creature, a mixture of dragon and scorpion, fuck the body for a few more minutes before he moved on. 21, 22, 23… no pregnancies. He noted that the hippogriff in 24 was looking lean, and instructed his assistant to make to note that the body from the wyvern’s room and two others from storage should be delivered to it tonight… the bodies of dead subjects made excellent treats for his precious prospects. 

Phentix walked between the cages, watching beast after beast subject their elvish mates to vicious fuckings. It was, he had to admit, quite a show… not that he thought of it that was. This was research… this was science. One of the mages he had used to work with had suggested once that they charge a fee to let other drow watch. Agast, Phentix had had him killed. One of these days, he was going to succeed… and he couldn’t risk have anyone else see what the conditions had lead to his discovery of the secret of life.

No pregnancies. Not one. Again. Phentix bemoaned his fate. He had been doing this for twenty years, although it was only in the last eight that he had been able to increase the size and efficiency of his experiments this much, and so far he hadn’t found a single case of a chimeric being able to breed with an elf. Thousands and thousands of individual rapes, under hundreds of conditions with dozens of different fertility drugs, and so far, nothing. Failure after failure.

But he wouldn’t give up. He was sure that he would succeed… he would keep trying to until he had exhausted every single possibility for a cross-species elf chimeric. Every single one of them.

At last, he reached 43, where his new hope for success prowled furiously through the room. The Manticore was as beautiful as Phentix could have hoped. The size of a spider lizard, the Manticore had the body of a lion, the wings of a dragon, and an almost-elvish face filled with sharp teeth. It’s tail, belonging to no animal that the wizard recognized, bristled with spikes, as it its mane… and the already exposed cock dragging beneath its body. The butchered, bloody corpse of an elf girl laying in the corner torn him that that it had eaten the drugged food prepared for it, and the pacing was further evidence that it was ready to breed.

“Introduce them,” Phentix ordered, and his assistance turned the wheel that caused the door to open… and let Deidala stumble into the room. 

The Manticore didn’t care about her ruined beauty, or that she only had one arm. He didn’t care that she had dead eyes and rarely struggled when she was raped anymore. All he cared was that she had tight holes… at least by the standard of his monstrous cock. And in Phentix’s opinion as he watched, Deidala lack of struggle and reaction to being fucked had been greatly overstated – as she was introduced to the creature’s barbed cock, she reacted plenty as far as he was concerned.

The show was arousing enough that it was growing distracting. He snapped his fingers, and his research assistant dropped to her knees, quickly parting his robes with practiced fingers and swallowing his cock all the way down her gullet in a single motion. He had trained her well… Chloe had been a rival Master of Sorcere before the fall, one of the drow that had doubted him the most. She was going to be here when he succeeded… he would make sure of that.

As the drow wizard he hated most lovingly sucked on his cock, Phentix watched the Manticore rape Deidala with eager eyes. This one would be the one… he could feel it…

* * *

**The Tenth Year**

Irae strode confidently down the street, the only free woman left in the entire city and reveled in the scope of the transformation she had wrought. All around her, the only drow women she saw wore collars and slave brands, and if any wore clothing at all it showed off their assets more than it maintained any modesty. More than one of them gave her a dirty look as she passed, but most drow – male and female both – dropped their gaze and tried to escape the High Priestess’ notice. The surface elves, those that were weren’t in the middle of being raped, only looked at her long enough to realize that she wasn’t one of them before their eyes widened in horror after realizing that the Albino was the architect of their destruction. 

In truth, Irae had nothing against her sex, nor any care for the elevation of men… she left matters of that to Nimor and his Jaezred Chaulssin. Matters of philosophy, the supremacy of one sex over another, mattered not to her in the slightest. The only thing she cared for was revenge. The priestesses of Lolth had cast her out for being born a Szarkai. Her mother, one of the priestesses of that unholy order, had tried to have her killed. For that crime, she had shattered their order… and the simmering rage of the men that had held down so long made the ideal tool. Nimor might be the Annointed Blade of the Jaezred Chaulssin, but he was far from the only agent of his father – the fall of Menzoberra’s Jewel had triggered uprising in every drow enclave in the underdark. She wasn’t sure if she was now the only free drow woman in the darkness, but she suspected that she was… and far from filling her with concern, she felt only satisfaction at the shattering of Lolth’s faith. Done by her hand, revenge for the insult they had given her by trying to have her killed, and more damningly, by dismissing her and casting her out.

It hadn’t been as big of a crime as the exile of the drow into Underdark, of course. That betrayal had put the faith of Lolth in charge in the first place and had lead directly to her own dismissal… but that debt had also come due now, thanks to her.

She walked the path up to the raised plateau of Qu’ellarz’orl, the former home of the ruling families of the city. They were more dispersed now, but it was the location of the palace that had once belonged to House Baenre, and the Queen of the city… so now it was Irae’s own home. The path itself, however, was one of her favorite places in the city. Heads on spikes lined the road… drow and surface elf alike. Some of her favorite trophies of her victory over the faith of Lolth and the hated surface elves. Eyes of blue and green and brown and glowing drow red followed her as she walked the path, jaws working as they tried breathlessly to scream or beg for death. Irae would let them… eventually. When she was dead. Perhaps.

Some of her trophies were covered in cum, she noted with a wrinkled nose. She knew that the heads were popular to use for sport by passing men, and that was good – further humiliation for the women who deserved this kind of eternal torment – but if their faces were so throughly plastered she couldn’t recognize them, it wouldn’t be good. She made a note to have one of the slaves walk the path and lick their faces clean tonight.

The palace was enormous… far too large for just one woman who lived alone. It didn’t matter. It was hers, and she dared anyone to try and take it from her, knowing what she had done to the last elves who had tried to take something from her. Keya opened the door for her as she approached, the undead elf woman one of the servants allowed in to tend to Irae’s needs, and Irae was quick to instruct her to have the trophies cleaned before she forgot. Then, after a meal and a glass of her favorite wine, she headed up the balcony that was her favorite place in his palace… the best view offered of the entire city.

The pale-skinned rug was soft beneath her feet as she strode up the balcony, and with each step the necromancer could feel the torment of the soul she had bound to it. Queen Gaelira’s soul hadn’t been allowed to go free… Irae had bound her to her new floor mat, left to eternally relive the torment of gagging on her son’s cock while she was flayed alive. She leaned over the railing, looking out at the city that she had made her own, and smiled at her favorite trophy. “They tell legends about you, you know,” she said with a grin.

Queen Quenthel Baenre’s head rested on the balcony next to her, impaled where she could see both the city and Irae. The necromantic magic had kept her perfectly preserved… she still looked every bit as fresh as she had the day that Irae had watched her be strangled… perfect and beautiful, the Queen and High Priestess of Lolth was her pride as joy as a prize, the symbol of how far she had gone, and who she had taken it from. “The Queen so pathetic that she allowed her entire gender to fall. Weak. Pathetic. Disgraceful. I didn’t expect many of the women to start worshipping Kiaransalee after the fall of Lolth but I certainly underestimated most of your fellow drow’s hatred of you. They burn you in effigy when they get a chance, you know.” 

Irae laughed. “Nothing lasts forever. In a few thousand years, maybe some cocky, talented woman very much like Nimor will revolt and will lead to the women taking back power in this city… but it won’t be in Lolth’s name. And they will remember you… the woman who led them to damnation. That’s why I’ve made sure you are going to last forever, my Queen. I’ll be long gone by then… but you won’t be. You’ll be here to greet them… and I only hope I get a chance to watch what they do to you from the next life.”

The look of rage on Quenthel’s face was delicious. Irae flicked her nose condescendingly just to make her try – pointlessly – to bite at her. Good luck without a neck. “Tell me, oh whore queen. What bothers you most? That you failed so utterly that your kingdom, goddess, your very sex has fallen? Or that I rule your kingdom more completely than you ever did?” She chuckled as she watched Keya lashing a random elf slave from behind as she drove the bitch down the street, where that one elf would need to lick the cum of thousands of men off the heads of drow and elf alike. Irae’s victory was not yet complete… but by the goddess, it was good to enjoy the spoils.

* * *

**The Fifteenth Year**

Taeri D’lae looked around Menzoberranzan with a profound sense of distaste. The city was beautiful, she supposed… if you were only going to look no deeper than the colors, the faerie fire lighting the sculptures, the stone buildings. The beauty was no deeper than the surface… this city was ugly to the bone. This city was the last place in the world she wanted to be… but it was where her people had been taken. So it was where she needed to go.

The surface had become increasingly hostile in the last few years… enough so that Taeri was willing to consider as insane of a plane as this… but she saw the extinction of her people looming. She had spent the last ten years moving from town to town, finding captives elves, ambushing individual drow assassins… and she had made no progress towards freeing her people. The truth was, while she might be a warrior, she was no hero, no royal, no leader. She was skilled, but she didn’t inspire others to follow her. 

The princess was still alive somewhere in this damned city… the last surviving royal, so far as Taeri knew. She was going to find her. 

Creeping through the alley outside of one of the drow’s whorehouses, Taeri winced as she stepped in a puddle of something that… she probably didn’t want to examine too closely. This was one of the poorer districts of the city, reserved for house-less drow. Laborers, workers, unskilled craftsmen. One step above slaves, as she understood it. To call this alley a street would be an insult to every other street, but Taeri needed to keep out of sight. Her disguise was only going to take her so far – she had originally thought to hide as a drow female, before she realized that would be nearly as bad in this city as just walking into the street as herself, so she had disguised herself as a man… but her pretty features could only be dulled so much, her large breasts only bound so tight. If she drew much attention to herself, someone would realize what she was… and then it would be short battle with only one end.

Even among this foul city… and she had seen no shortage of horror since sneaking past its borders… this brothel seemed a fleck of deeper darkness within the black of the city. Evil radiated from this place, a tangible force that carried with it the smell of suffering. Every instinct in her told Taeri divinely-attuned senses screamed at her to leave this place along, to turn around and go away. But if she did that… her race would continue slowly dying out, and courage had never a thing she’d lacked in.

Thankfully, the brothel was not a well-built structure. The fixtures keeping a window on the second floor were weak, and it only took Taeri a minute to work them loose and slip inside… and that was when she began to hear the screaming. As foul as this place seemed from the outside, it was far worse on the inside. She raised the holy symbol of Corona to her lips and kissed it, but so dark was the evil in this place that it seemed to dim even the brilliance of her goddess’ light – It seemed like her goddess was far, far away, and her light provided no comfort or heat here. She shuddered. The princess had been in a place like this for fifteen years…

Moving gracefully in her stolen Piwafwi cloak, she stepped out into the hallway. Men roamed this place, and she tried to look inconspicous… thankfully, she quickly realized that all the men here had more pressing things to pay attention to. Dozens of women were chained up in side room, beaten down, weeping or screaming as they were hurt or raped. 

In her infiltration, in her time on the surface, in the world since the drow had destroyed her kingdom, Taeri had seen depravity… but the sheer concentration of it here was overwhelming. One way she looked, three men pinning a pretty blonde elf down to one of the tables, making her suck them off one at a time while they crammed empty bottles of booze up her holes. A weeping brunette, barely of age, wept as her bound breasts were whipped, her vain thrashing in search of an escape bringing pleasure to man holding her arms behind her and skewering her ass on his cock. There were even a few drow women here, although not many… and with each atrocity she witnessed, her heart burned hotter for the women here. She longed to save them all and she promised herself that she would… but she needed to start with the ones that weren’t being observed. After she had gotten the princess free, she would do everything in her power to see this entire city burned and buried beneath a collapsing cavern, all her sister elves freed. 

Sadly, she was beginning to realize that would be much more difficult than she had anticipated. The brothel was bigger than she had thought, and filled with men… finding one specific woman in this mess was a nightmare, and she didn’t even know if she was supposed to look up or down. She didn’t know the rules of this place, expected behavior, payment… there were a million ways she could expose herself. What she needed was someone to tell her where the princess would be… she needed a guide.

It took her an hour to find a good prospect… a room with only a single girl in it, with only one man abusing her. The pretty blonde elf was being forced to suck on his cock, something she had evidently been trained to do quite well. She would need to do. Taeri kicked the door shut behind her as she entered, making the man raping the elf look up for a moment before shrugging and turning his attention back onto his victim… a fatal mistake. A moment later, Taeri grabbed his hair and yanked his head back, exposing his throat enough to ram a dagger through it. He sputtered breathlessly, spitting up blood, and dropped soundlessly in a dead heap at her feet a few seconds later.

The elf woman looked up at her with wide eyes. As Taeri looked down at her, she realized that the woman was in worse shape that she had originally thought. Barely an inch of the blonde girls skin was not covered with whip welts, and it was only a miracle or some enchantment that had kept her from succumbing to infection. Her pale blonde hair cascaded down over her face, half concealing her eyes as she looked up at her savior. “Hey,” she whispered, almost afraid to talk any louder. “I’m going to get you out of here… I need to know if you’ve seen the Princess.” 

The blonde woman was panting in terror. “Are you… are you really… here…” she whispered. 

The poor thing seemed terrified. “Yes,” Taeri said, trying again to be encouraging with her tone, with her body language. “Can you help me? I’ll get you out of here, but I need your help to…”

Unfortunately for her, Taeri had no way of knowing that her information was incomplete. That while Princess Elasha’s owner, Lord Jegdrym Philyrr, did indeed own this brothel, is was one of many the wealth drow lord owned, and Elasha wasn’t actually in any of them… she was his personal plaything. That she had picked the most dangerous brothel in the city to try to infiltrate… and that some of the elves were more broken than others after fifteen years. And she had no way of knowing that Gwynnestri Olowynn had gone completely mad long before she had arrived in Menzoberranzan.

The Gwynnestri interrupted her. “You’re going to get me killed…” she moaned. “I don’t want to die… I don’t… want to die…” she blinked rapidly. “I’ll… I’ll tell them! They’ll surely show me mercy then!” Her voice grew louder, and more frantic, with each world. As she tilted her head further up, the hair slid away from her face, and Taeri could finally, too late, see the madness lurking in those haunted eyes.

“Shhh,” Taeri said, “You need to calm down, stay quiet…”

But Gwynnestri wasn’t listening anymore. She was shouting. “Intruder! Intruder! INTRUDER!”

“No! No, no, no…” Taeri said frantically, shaking her head. But the other woman did not stop her screaming. She clamped a hand down over her mouth. “Be quiet!” she hissed. “I’m here to save you… I can get you out of here… but only if you stay…”

The guard kicked the door hard enough door almost flew off its hinges and stepped into the room, sword drawn. Taeri cursed as a second, and then a third, entered as well, and she spun, drawing her sword, resigned to fighting. Maybe she could cut her way free enough to disappear, come back later. She could fight them. She could… 

She never saw it coming as Gwynnestri slammed her elbow into the back of her neck, driving her unconscious to the floor in a second. 

Soon, she would experience most of the depravities she had witnessed first hand… but she would never find the princess she sought. And the next time he had his friends over for drinks, Jegdrym Philyrr had a good laugh with them about how one of the few remaining elvish heroes had delivered herself into his brothels.

* * *

**The Eighteenth Year**

Tali quivered with joy as another one of her beloved children sank its ovipositor into her body. “Children” wasn’t the most accurate term – something like great great great great great great great grandchild would have been more appropriate – but such silly things were no use keeping track of. They were just her children to her, and she loved them all so much.

Her body twitched pleasantly with the arrival of each new egg. She would have licked her lips in eager anticipation if her hungry children hadn’t chewed both lips and tongue off ages ago. She’d sacrificed so much of herself to help feed her babies: her eyes, her nose, her breasts, her internal organs. Even the hole her wonderful child was making love to couldn’t rightly be called just her cunt or just her ass, not after its great great great grandparents had finished devouring the flesh that separated the two.

Tali didn’t know much about mortal bodies, but she knew that no creature should have been able to lose so much of herself and still be alive. It was a miracle, a true blessed miracle, that she was able to remain in her home of darkness and dirt no matter how thoroughly her body was hollowed out. She’d been down there for decades before she’d figured out the source of her luck: elementals were Shattered not by simple death, but by destruction of their essence. Fire elementals died when every last flame went out, earth elementals when they were crushed into powder, water when they became completely dry. And Wind… Wind could only die if it was dispersed.

Has she been above ground, that fate would’ve arrived in moments, her tattered body dissolving easily in the breeze, but here in this stagnant cavern, miles below the ground? Where the closest thing to a breeze was the movement of air caused by her children thrusting into her? It was impossible. No matter what became of her body, not matter how much of her was chewed up a minuscule piece at a time, she would never disperse and never Shatter. This cave would be her home forever. What a glorious life she’d found!

By the time her child was done adding its eggs, more than a dozen others inside of her had already hatched, sending shivers of ecstasy through her as hundreds of new children explored and tasted their loving incubator, just as thousands upon thousands upon thousands of their ancestors had done over the years. There wouldn’t be much of anything for them to find, since by now she was little more than a translucent bag of skin stuffed to bulging with eggs and children, but she wished them luck.

Already another child’s ovipositor was sliding into her so sweetly to bless her with more eggs, and she could hear the delicate tap-tap-tap of dozens more patiently awaiting their turn. If Tali still had a heart, it would have swelled with love for each and every one of them. Such wonderful, caring children she had. Her beautiful family that grew and grew with each passing moment.

Her life was bliss. Pure, unadulterated bliss that would never end. And it would be even better soon, so much better, once the many children making their home on her face finished chewing off what was left of her ears. Their tiny mouths made progress slow, but they’d manage it within a few years.

It was going to be such a relief to no longer hear that endless screaming.

* * *

**The Twentieth Year**

Aurellia Flaeran’s life was wonderful.

When she had first been brought to the estate of Krizoz Flaeran, she had spent almost a year waiting for the other shoe to drop and crush her… but it never came. Krizoz had fed her, clothed her, surrounded her with guards that kept other men away from her. No one touched her against her will any longer. From what she could see from his high balconies almost every house in the city had a woman or two as a slave… but Krizoz did not. No surface elves other than her. Not even any of the drow women that had been overthrown. Even so, it had been nearly a year of careful courtship before she had let him take her to bed.

Her husband… **husband**!… was different from the rest. He was loving, caring, doting. He might be drow, but the way he acted, the way he looked at her… it made her think that the legends had been wrong. That not every drow was a monster who had deserved exile. That banishing an entire race for the sins of their forebearers had been a foul crime. 

When she had had a daughter, she had feared that it would change things… it had not. If anything, he was a more loving father than he was a husband, and protected his children – her five daughters, now – every bit as thoroughly from the insane society of butchers beyond his doors as he did her. Sirenia, her eldest, was his favorite… he doted on that girl, payed her all the attention in the world, and Aurellia couldn’t blame him – the girl was incredible, smart and beautiful and wonderful and **theirs**. They had made her together… the two of them.

It was a small thing, in a world gone mad… but it gave her hope that the world could some day be made right. Not all the drow were monsters, they were just trapped in a monstrous society. Their marriage, their children, was proof that a union between their races could produce something wonderful. They would find a way to share that gift with the world, someday… together. They would make it right.

A knock came at the door, and even after years and years and years as his wife, years since she had been raped, the noise still made her jump. She told herself that she was being silly, that nothing here was going to hurt her… but it still look her a minute to calm her racing heart. “Yes?” she asked.

“Dinner is in ten minutes,” a guard said through the door. “The Master wanted me to let you know.”

Aurellia beamed. It was a special occasion, after all… their eldest’s birthday. In drow society, girl children stepped being whelps and were considered women when they reached sixteen years old… and Sirenia was half drow. It was time for her to be considered a adult… tonight, she would celebrate with their daughter, and welcome her into the new world that she and Krizoz were trying to create. 

Tonight was just for them, so she gently put her other daughters to bed, one at a time. Little Maseria, just two years old, went last… clutching at the roll of flakey bread that Aurellia had handed all her daughters to see them fed tonight. The bread was mostly tasteless, when it didn’t taste outright foul, but it made up a large portion of the food she had seen from the drow – it must be easy to grow.

With a bounce in her step, Aurellia pranced to the door and out into the corridor, looking resplendent in the golden dress that her husband had given her as a gift. It would have looked ridiculous on a drow complexion and with their silver hair, but on her it made her shine like Corona herself. The guards fell into step behind her… for years, that had made her feel threatened, how close they usually were to her. It took years of none of them touching her, and watching from the balcony, to realize that that level of protection for someone her husband cared about was actually wise. She tried not to shy away from them… they didn’t deserve that she always thought of her numerous drow rapists from the sack of Soleila when she saw soldiers.

Her husband waited for for her in the dining room, and Aurellia threw herself into his arms, pressing her lips against his in a passionate kiss. Despite everything, despite how they had met in this hell, she truly, truly loved this man… it was almost worth what she had suffered to have found him. After they broke their kiss, Aurellia blushed to have acted like a young girl again, but she supposed love could do that. She looked around. “Where is our daughter?”

“Getting ready I believe…” Krizoz said with an indulgent smile. “I’m sure she’ll be here any minute. You know how she likes to make herself look absolutely perfect.” 

Aurellia opened her mouth to laugh, to agree that she really did, when the doors parted and four servants came in bearing covered dishes, setting them on the table. “It appears dinner is here ahead of our daughter,” she said, and her husband laughed. The sound of it made her happy, and she laughed as well. “Should we wait for her?”

He paused, considering. “No, I don’t think so. We wouldn’t want the food to get cold… I had this made special, after all. I’m sure she’d want us to enjoy it.”

Lifting up the covered dishes one by one, Aurellia’s mouth began to water at the unbelievable smell of cooked meat. One of the baskets contained those damned rolls, but beneath the others… She had smelled some meat before in this place – generally Roathe steaks. It was greasy and fatty, and while it was better than the bread it wasn’t anything to be excited about this. This, however… this smelled like the most delicious thing she would ever get to put in her mouth. After catching a whiff and feeling her stomach growl, she didn’t need much encouragement… surely Sirenia would be here shortly, and it would serve her right for being late to such a perfect meal.

It tasted even better than it smelled. Juicy and firm and utterly delicious… she hadn’t had anything this good since she had lived in Soleila… possibly ever… and she relished it, cutting mouthful after mouthful off the meat shanks and swallowing them. Across her, her husband ate just as voraciously, a smile on his face never seeming to fade. At last, she sat back, unable to eat another bite.

“That was just as delicious as I hoped it would be,” Krizoz said with a slow nod.

“I hope we left enough for Sirenia!” Aurellia said, shocked at how lost she had gotten in the good food, that she had forgotten that their daughter still wasn’t here. She thought to ask again where she was, but as she looked across the table at her husband, she saw the basket of rolls again… sitting in the middle of he table. They hadn’t been touched once… not by her, and not by her husband, either. “Ask you a question, lover?”

“Of course,” he said, leaning forward like he was eager. He licked his lips, taking in a tiny bit of meat flavor that lingered on his lips. 

“Why bother with the rolls?” she asked. “I mean… surely I can’t be alone in thinking they aren’t very good. Nutritous enough I suppose, if everyone can live off them… but with a meal like this, why have them at all?”

Krizoz smiled at her. “They’re here as a kind of celebration, too,” he admitted. “Without them, I never would have met you.” When she tilted her head, he leaned further forward and continued. “They are foul, aren’t they? Almost all of them are like that. No one likes them, but they keep all the slaves fed, and they’re plentiful. I was the one who discovered them, after the rebellion… we made them, but no one ever **wanted** to eat them. They were always disgusting… until I realized that one batch sold far better than the others. It seemed like people actually enjoyed those one. I tried one myself and I had to admit… it was actually good.”

“I… don’t understand,” Aurellia protested. “These aren’t good at all!”

“No, they aren’t,” he agreed. “They aren’t the same batch. There haven’t been any more of those since I rescued you from the tree.” He smiled at her. “That was where they came from, you see. The plants that they can incubate in you grow very quickly… and they can be ground up and processed. And the slaves in the city have plentiful food.”

Aurellia didn’t understand what she was hearing. That… thing… that plant-like elf woman that she had birthed in her first days here… it had been slaughtered for **food**? She remembering thinking of it as an abomination, and thoughts of it had made her shudder for years afterward… but surely it didn’t deserve that! “Krizoz!” she protested. “I… I’ve eaten those!” Horror spread across her face as she grew more and more upset. She stood up. “I fed our **daughters** those! They… they’re elvish children! We can’t feed them that!”

“Of course we can,” Krizoz said as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world. “It’s what all the elves eat.”

She was growing… angry. She hadn’t felt like she could get angry anymore… it actually felt good. “How can you not see that is wrong!” she said in disbelief. Surely this man, her husband, could be made to realize… this had to be a cultural difference between their people… something that they would work through. “We can’t feed our children… we can’t… can’t…” She trailed off as a tiny thought began to whisper in the back of her head.

“So when I found an elf who could manage to make that disgusting bread taste good,” Krizoz continued, “I knew she had to be something special… and I wondered how much better it could be. The problem was, there was only one of you. I was worried the others wouldn’t be nearly as special.” The drow lord licked his lips again. “I needn’t have worried.”

That whisper in her mind was becoming a scream. “Where… where is our daughter?”

Krizoz gestured at the remnants of their completed meal. “The farmers insist that Roathe raised with love end up tasting better. Sounded like nonsense to me, but turns out it was true. She was well worth waiting for, wasn’t she?”

Aurellia began to scream. She didn’t stop as her husband brought the limbless, titless, still living remnants of Sirenia in, raping her and impregnating her with a future meal. She didn’t stop as she was chained in his bedroom to continue serving her husband as a plaything, to pump out more daughters for him. She never stopped, until the day when she was finally permitted to die, most of a century and thirty more daughters later.


	11. The Goddess

This is an especially brutal story, filled with torture, rape, and snuff. Be sure this is a thing you want to read before continuing. 

**The Twentieth Year**

The years had not been kind to Bonaluria Cartris, but the same could be said for any elf remaining in the world, especially those unfortunate enough to survive long enough to be injected into drow society. Bonaluria’s former role as a priestess had made her an alluring piece of property at first, but only for the first few years of her captivity. She’d spent the bulk of her time as a disposable fuck-slave working in one of the handful of elven brothels littered throughout Menzoberranzan. The fact that she was even still alive after such a lengthy period being casually used and abused by whatever drow male could pay the low cost of hiring her out for a few hours was some kind of cruel miracle, but somehow the former priestess had managed to hold onto her exotic beauty and still had holes tight enough to provide pleasure to the men that violated her multiple times a day.

The brand of her original owner was layered over with scars, replaced with the brand of the brothel that had taken possession of her. The mark wasn’t huge but emblazoned upon her right buttock it was quite distinctive with her lack of clothing. It ensured that even if she found a chance to escape the hell of the brothel, she would be dragged back – dead or alive – to continue her duties. She gagged around the cock pushing its way towards the back of her throat, choked as the collar around her neck tightened with the tug of her user. She begged the man to pull the collar tighter, tight enough to finally snuff her out. Death, at least, would offer her an escape. Perhaps even some form of bliss if her goddess, Corona, still looked favorably enough upon her. Unfortunately, neither of her users had paid the extra cost to terminate her, so she was left to gag and drool over one man’s prick while the other shoved his way up her clenching asshole.

It was while she was wishing for death, her holy duties thoroughly fucked and tortured out of her, that the drow guardsmen came to collect her. They dragged her from the brothel, not being shy with the exploratory movements of their groping hands as they hauled the disgraced priestess to their own temple. The architecture was jagged and dark, a perfect symbolization of the drow mentality. Just the look of the place managed to send a shiver of fear down Bonaluria’s spine. Nothing good could lurk in such a temple. The fact that she’d been pulled from her regular duties to be brought there only further scared her. Something terrible was about to happen, of that the former priestess was certain, but like everything else in her life since the drow had invaded her realm, she was powerless to stop it.

The inside of the temple was, if anything, more imposing than the exterior. There was no comfort to be found on the stiff metal pews, no kindness displayed in the wicked statues lining the walls. Bonaluria recalled her own temple – before its destruction – and how it had always felt like a welcoming place of warmth and kindness. The drow temple was the antithesis of all of that. She spotted a familiar face waiting for her. The years had been even less kind to Gwynnestri Olowynn. Her fellow priestess – the only other remaining survivor from her temple – had lost her mind during the invasion, and judging by the wild-eyed look she had, she’d never regained it. Bonaluria felt a spark of jealousy for the woman. She was certain the woman’s overeager attitude towards her abuse had done her no favors – that much was clear from the myriad of scars covering her naked flesh – but she’d at least had the benefit of not having her sanity weighing her down. Two other elven women cowered beside Gwynnestri. Amisra Keylee and Clanire Enharice were both former priestess, although Bonaluria had never met them previously. They’d been pulled from one of the more remote temples on the surface fairly recently. They’d been in Menzoberranzan less than a year, but they’d already seen more than their share of debasement.

The sight of Princess Elasha startled Bonaluria for a number of reasons. It was shocking to see a member of the royal house, even after all this time, laid bare in public. By the look of it, Elasha’s naturally golden hair had received a recent touchup to the crimson coloring she’d gained in the wake of her mother and father’s deaths. The hair was still damp with blood, courtesy of the used-up elf breeder who’d finally outlived her appeal. A thick collar circled Elasha’s throat, rusted spikes angled inwards to dig painfully into her flesh with even the most casual tug of the leash clipped to it. Judging by the ring of scars circling the woman’s neck, the leash received frequent tuggings. She remained perched on her hands and knees, like a well-trained animal, tired eyes alert and glancing up to her owner – a high profile drow lord – to catch even a hint of whatever whims might be stirring him at any given moment. The princess was a broken shell of a woman, her former life of luxury completely forgotten. The most startling thing about the princess was her mere presence in the temple. To have her trotted out of whatever private dungeon she spent the majority of her time meant that whatever was being planned was bigger than anything Bonaluria had witnessed in the awful city up until that point.

And she’d seen no shortage of terrible atrocities.

Former soldiers lined up like cattle, violently bred to produce valuable half-breed offspring. The males slaughtered as soon as they left the birth canal, the females ferried off and auctioned away to endure far worse fates.

Dryads, half-dead from being taken so far from their sacred forests, spitted while they still drew breath for public roasts. The drow seemed to have developed a particular taste for the women. Bonaluria had been forced to taste a portion of well-roasted dryad cunt-steak once, much to the amusement of her former owner. She’d been disgusted to find that she could see the appeal.

The severed heads of so many elven men and women – and drow women – lining the streets, returned to a half-life of misery, screaming silently out at passersby when they weren’t being pulled off their spikes to be casually used as sexual aids.

So many public executions, displaying the full extent of sadistic delight the drow mind possessed.

To think that something worse was primed to take place within the wicked temple left Bonaluria feeling faint, on the verge of puking.

There was a tense period of waiting. Elasha’s owner – Jegdrym Philyrr – decided to pass the time by crouching behind his pet and sliding his prick into her still tight pussy. Elasha panted urgently, shifting back and forth along his shaft, doing her best to avoid the hard yanks of the leash. The priestesses were left to fidget amongst one another, but the leering gaze of the other high profile drow guests told Bonaluria that they were merely waiting for the main event to start before they moved in to start using them. Gwynnestri – in her infinite madness – began to masturbate, whimpering aloud that it had been too long since she’d had something hard stuffed into her. Her behavior – though an affective tease – was rewarded with a hard strike to the back of her head that seemed to settle her down somewhat.

Finally, the doors opened. Bonaluria turned her eyes towards the threshold, breath caught on her quivering lips. Drow guards entered first, not a surprise. The trio of chained up women trudging miserably in their wake was. The breath left the former priestess’s lips in a short, horrified gasp. The trio were Avariel elves, their wings tightly bound against their backs. Their breed of elf was rare enough to be the cause for an event all themselves, but Bonaluria knew they were merely part of the precession. Although stripped nude, the Avariel carried themselves in a certain way, exuding a kind of presence. She’d seen something close to it amongst her own sisterhood of priestesses, only this was on a far more powerful level. They’re handmaidens, she surmised, the nausea in her gut swirling to greater strength. For… oh, Goddess…

It was Her.

Beaten severely and restrained with heavy chains, the Goddess Corona stumbled her way into the unholy temple. Her beautiful face showed signs of extreme fatigue, a sign of just how weak she’d grown as her worshipers had been slaughtered and corrupted. Bonaluria damned herself even as she retched onto the floor, wishing she’d had the courage to at least try to maintain her daily worshipping to the goddess. But between all of the cocks and all of the torture – and the certainty of painful death if she was caught even thinking about practicing her old ways – she’d had little time and less incentive to try something so risky. Clearly, none of the other priestesses had, either. Certainly not Gwynnestri. And now they’d been brought together to witness the cost of their dereliction.

Irae and Nimor strolled in behind Corona, looking even smugger than usual. The last figures to enter the temple were enough to loosen Bonaluria’s bladder from the all-consuming terror their mere presence instilled.

The male was stunningly gorgeous, in an icy way. He looked not too dissimilar from any other drow, aside from the added spark in his glowing crimson eyes and the casual strut of confidence. Vhaeraun, the god of tricksters, assassins, and murder. Rumor had it, he’d also added rape to his debacherous collection of cherished vices. He was the son of Lolth, the once supreme goddess amonst the drow race. The tales of the atrocities Vhaeraun had visited upon his mother in the wake of the rebellion of the drow males were already being cemented into legend, one of the first chapters in the history of the reinvented race. After years of claiming to be only for equality between the genders in drow society, Vhaeraun had either grown weary of the prolonged suffering of his fellow males or had merely revealed his true intentions. Whatever the true reasons were behind his motivations, it hardly mattered. His side had been triumphant, thanks in large part to his most devoted worshiper, Nimor.

The female was an icon of grotesque beauty. Half of her face was flawlessly crafted and awe-inspiring. The other half inspired nothing but dread, a skeletal visage. Kiaransalee was the drow goddess of death, necromancy, and vengeance. She had many devotees, and she was just as likely to savor smiting and torturing them as she was praising them if they failed to live up to her high expectations. She had no greater champion than Irae, the albino outcast who’d been pivotal in the staging of the drow revolt that allowed her to claim vengeance over those who’d mocked her, and then press onwards to settle an even older grudge against the surface dwelling elves.

Bonaluria had only ever heard stories of the deities. She’d never expected to lay eyes on them. But the capture of an elven goddess was no common occurrence. Perhaps its a trick, she thought, allowing herself a desperate flicker of hope for the first time in two decades. Perhaps Corona allowed herself to be captured to lure these two out of hiding, so she could deal a devastating blow to these drow scum. Even as she thought the words, the disgraced priestess knew she was wrong. Even though the plot had wisdom to it, she knew her goddess would never allow the filthy drow to touch her, let alone bind her, unless she was too weak to stop them. There was no subterfuge to be found in this event, no stunning release from the ongoing nightmare that had fallen over every elf who still drew breath. This was simply another milestone on the dark road to elven extinction.

Corona was led through the temple, Irae chuckling as she viciously cracked a riding crop across the chained goddess’s perfect ass cheeks. A large stone altar dominated the front of the temple, its top and sides intricately carved with images of suffering and sexual domination, no doubt a hint of what had transpired upon the altar previously as well as what awaited Corona. The chains were removed and for a brief moment of breathtaking beauty that was not warranted in such a grim locale, the goddess was allowed to fully extend her magnificent wings. The drow guards lifted her and roughly forced her back across the altar, stretching her arms and legs away from her body and securing her in place. To witness her once powerful goddess stripped bare and forced to expose herself to her enemies in such a vile manner broke Bonaluria’s heart. She wanted to drop to her knees and begin praying fervently. Instead, she was forced onto her knees and made to suck on the high society cock of one of the drow attendees.

“Corona, once the goddess of light and justice for the elven race,” Irae announced with a cruel smile. “The time has come for you to pay for the sins of your worshippers. Sins they’ve been paying for themselves for the last twenty years. But a being of your caliber does not deserve to languish in some filthy brothel somewhere, servicing a handful of men each day. You will remain here, in this temple, on display for all to look upon, for all to use as they see fit. You will remain here until every cock in the underdark has sampled your flesh. No longer will you be seen as the goddess of light and justice. You will be a goddess of whores. Of damned women. Of disposable pleasure. Only after that title has been thoroughly ingrained into your body will you then yourself be disposed of.” Irae giggled. “I do hope you’re comfortable. You’re going to be here for a while.”

“And to start things off,” Nimor picked up, his grin even more menacing than Irae’s. “We’ve invited a special guest. My father, Chaulssin, will be the first to defile you.”

At the mention of his name, Chaulssin entered the temple. His grotesquely demonic visage seemed to darken the already murky lighting within the temple. Long, sharp-tipped claws twitched eagerly at his sides as he fluttered his leathery black wings. In his human-like form, he provided a disturbing counterbalance to Corona’s pure angelic beauty. Even in that form, he looked more than capable of giving the bound goddess a torturous rape. But even in her weakened state, Chaulssin was certain the woman could handle more than his human figure had to offer. Gasps spread around the temple as the hideous figure shifted and expanded into the demi-god’s true form; a Shadow Dragon behemoth that left the massive temple feeling overly crowded.

Chaulssin stomped his way over to Corona, sending reverberations through the solid stone foundation of the ancient temple. With the bulk of the creature in her way and a stiff cock pumping down her throat, Bonaluria could not see the face of her goddess, but she hoped it matched the defiant glower she imagined in her mind. 

It did not. 

Staring up at the Shadow Dragon’s massive, hideous head, Corona trembled with fear. She’d spent what had seemed an eternity basking in the powerful aura of her worshipers, an unstoppable force to be reckoned with. Weakness had never come naturally to her. With the heavy chains holding her down and her own proud handmaidens already being carelessly used as sextoys right beside her, weakness was all she had left. Her pride revolted against this new, terrible state, but even her ego could not contend with the all-too-real presence of the enormous Shadow Dragon perched over her. There had been a time, and it felt not very long ago, that she could have easily battled the creature off, crippling or killing it for its arrogant assumption that she was merely a pretty piece of flesh to be violated. Now… she could only cower and wait for him to take what he liked from her.

Chaulssin’s cock started from between his rear legs and stretched a third of the way up his belly, making the full length of his member greater than Corona’s height from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. There were battering rams capable of bashing through even the sturdiest of castle walls less girthy than the Shadow Dragon’s prick. The sexual organ was designed to dominate and satisfy feisty female dragons. No human-sized mate could hope to survive an encounter with it, but even in her weakened state, Corona had enough power to endure what was about to be done to her. Much to her own dismay.

The Shadow Dragon lowered himself closer to Corona, shifting his body back so he could slide his throbbing erection between her widely splayed legs. The firm tip of the dragon cock nestled snugly against the goddess’s crotch, prodding against her hairless cunt lips. Digging his front claws into the altar and bracing his rear against the floor, Chaulssin pushed forward with steady force. The pressure against the entrance of her snatch grew. The Shadow Dragon huffed and grunted against her face, watching the rising strain in her glistening eyes. His forked tongue slithered free to lap up a quick taste of the goddess’s burgeoning tears. The salty flavor sparked his lust to greater heights, teasing a hard pelvic thrust out of him that proved sufficient to finally breach Corona’s sex. The goddess howled, her pride not nearly strong enough to hold back the cunt-punch of pain ripping up through her loins as her pussy lips expanded to obscene proportions.

With the struggle of penetration at an end, Chaulssin hammered deeper into Corona, driving the bulging shaft of his flesh further up her body. Her wings fluttered about beneath her, lithe muscles straining against the chains in a desperate effort to rip herself free and escape the agonizing damnation of the rigid meat tearing through her gut. Corona’s screams became urgent gagging as she hacked up thick wads of blood and clumps of pulverized organ. Chaulssin slowed his punishing strokes upon reaching the midway point of the goddess’s body. He drew back, dragging thick inches of blood-smeared prick free from her obscenely gaping snatch, before driving them back into the woman. He carried on like that for a while, giving Corona the time to recover and heal from the internal destruction he’d given her so far, letting her wailing echo of the cavernous walls of the temple, blend with the soggy squelching of his shifting member.

Bonaluria would have hated the symphony of suffering filling the temple even if she hadn’t been aware of who the tortured songbird was. To hear such shrieks of helpless anguish torn from the lips of her beloved goddess crushed her soul in ways she’d thought impossible. She ground her hips back to meet the spirited thrusts of the drow stretching her asshole open with mechanical rhythm while slurping wetly at the testicles of the man standing before her. Her fellow priestesses were enduring similar assaults. Gwynnestri seemed to be having the time of her life as she bounced swiftly between the cocks sliding into her cunt and ass, begging the drow towering over her to choke her harder as he spat across her flushed, sweaty face. Amistra was laid out on her back, face buried into the crack of a drow male’s ass, tonguing at his sphincter with desperate urgency, while another sat on her chest, fucking rapidly between her mashed tits. Clanire knelt on one of the pews, body bent over the back of it while a queue of eager drow took turns fucking her pussy while swatting her plump buttocks.

The celebratory event had encouraged Jegdrym to allow a more communal usage of his prized slave. Princess Elasha scooted on her knees from one drow to the next, presenting her open, cum-clogged mouth to all those interested in sampling it. Most of the men were quite happy to fuck her royal face with enthusiastic gusto, while others simply smacked her around a bit with their members before forcing her to do all of the work. Jegdrym beamed with pride as he received praise for the oral talents of his obedient whore. The princess attended to her disgraceful duties with dull, lifeless eyes. She’d not felt even a faded flicker of hope in her heart since the day she’d been forced to watch her parents butchered. As far as she was concerned, this day wasn’t so different from any of the other terrible days she’d lived in the last twenty years.

Priestess and princess were used roughly and without care, but their treatment seemed almost kind in comparison to the treatment of the Avariel handmaidens. Freshly caught and filled with a defiant rage that grew only stronger as a result of seeing what was being done to their goddess, they were beaten severely even as they were raped. Their powerful wings were broken, left mangled and useless. Khiiral – by far the most rebellious of the handmaidens – had her teeth pried loose from her mouth after daring to bite down on one of the cocks presented to her. The men enjoyed the fight the handmaidens possessed, which was the only reason they weren’t quickly dispatched. Their energetic thrashing and flailing provided the drow with satisfying fucks, the likes of which they’d not found in any of their elven captives for more than a decade.

Although she could not see any of it, Corona’s close spiritual connection with her handmaidens allowed her to feel something of what they were experiencing. Under any other circumstances, she’d have felt rage and sorrow for their suffering. But compared to her own ongoing agony, she could only feel bitter resentment. She gagged and gasped breathlessly as Chaulssin’s massive cockhead beat its way under her ribcage, smashing the organs within flat. The flesh of her neck bulged as the Shadow Dragon fucked his way up the back of her throat. Only Corona’s divine spark kept her head from being ripped free from her body, working against her to keep her alive through the torment as her jaw snapped and the gory tip of the weapon-like erection jutted free from her gaping mouth. Growling with delight, Chaulssin fucked more of his cock through Corona, allowing her to stare, wide-eyed, at the first few feet of his giant prick. When her widely stretched pussy lips finally rested against the base of his shaft, the Shadow Dragon drew back and began to forceful rhythm of thrusts through the full length of her tortured body, transforming her into a loose flesh receptacle for his pleasure.

After boring a massive cock-shaped hole through Corona for more than an hour, Chaulssin’s pumps quickened. He tilted his head back, emitting a roar of triumph as he came through the barely alive goddess’s ruined body. Heavy spurts of cum sprayed from her gaping, broken mouth, coating her face in heavy layers in moments as the majority of the spunk splattered across the back wall of the temple. She shuddered – both from the pervasive pain as well as the stimulated twitches running down the Shadow Dragon’s shaft – until the climax ended. Drawing his spent member free from the goddess’s thoroughly wrecked form, Chaulssin drew himself inwards, shifting back into his still horrifying but significantly smaller form. Climbing up onto the altar, he straddled Corona’s chest and snared a fistful of her jizz-laden hair, forcing her face to peer up at him. Extending one of his long claws to her head, he jabbed the tip through the layer of skin covering her forehead, etching out his name with slow precision. Hot blood flowed over the cum coating her face, blending with it. When he finished signing his conquest, he released his grip on her, letting her head drop back against the altar. He climbed off of the defiled goddess and turned, leisurely strutting from the temple, leaving his once noble victim to shudder and sob as she slowly healed from the devastation he’d visited upon her holy body.

Bonaluria earned a brief reprieve in the wake of Chaulssin’s exit as she and the other women gathered to be witnesses to the goddess’s prolonged defilement and execution were abandoned by their users. They gathered at the center of the temple, pushing into a loose queue, trading places as one drow asserted their dominance over another to gain better positioning while they waited to take their turns with Corona. Several of the more powerful players were wise enough to allow others to go ahead of them, but not out of any sense of generosity. The first few eager abusers found their plaything still largely ruined thanks to the Shadow Dragon’s vigorous usage. Even her asshole was blown out as a result of her cunt flesh ripping part of the way through her initial rape. With impatient men prodding them along from behind, they were forced to climb onto the altar and satisfy their lust with the goddess’s still stunning tits. They added their creamy deposits to her messy form before being handed a blade to carve their names into her body just like Chaulssin had.

Nearly half of the high society drow males had taken a turn with Corona by the time her body mended itself enough to return her to a fuckable – albeit still loose – state. Her jaw healed the fastest, fresh teeth splitting through the bloody sockets left in her gums, ensuring that the next third of the men to take her focused almost exclusively on violating her mouth, forcing her to guzzle down their loads. Sticky wads of cum drained heavily from her gasping mouth before long, making her disturbingly thankful when enough time had passed to restore her mangled genitals. Although the forceful pumping between her strained thighs was far from pleasant, it at least didn’t come with a foul taste. By the time everyone in the line finished violating her, Corona’s body had been restored to a nearly flawless state, with the exception of the deep gouges carved into her flesh, each one spelling out the name of her already numerous abusers. The magic permeating the dagger used to create the markings would ensure the wounds would heal more slowly, leaving behind ugly scar tissue. Already, names covered her from head to toe, although there were certain areas were the grouping was much tighter, specifically across her breasts, just above her crotch, along the insides of her thighs, and spreading across her face.

In the time it had taken the invited guests to conclude their terrible business with Corona, a huge crowd of drow men had gathered outside the temple. Those bold enough to drag along a female slave or two to have something to pass the time while they waited for a crack at the goddess found their playthings torn away from them at the temple’s entrance. The only women deemed worthy enough to step foot inside the temple were already there. The others were tossed to the crowd to keep them appeased during their long wait. With the bloodthirsty excitement permeating the huge gathering, none of them survived long. Not that it stopped the rowdy bunch of men from taking turns with their carcasses. It was only after they’d grown too loose and soggy to provide any degree of entertainment that the bodies eventually made their way to the outskirts of the throng, tossed carelessly into the road and trod over as even more fresh and eager males closed in around the temple.

The event lasted weeks. Small, manageable groups of men were allowed into the temple at a time, free to make use of the priestesses while they waited. Jegdrym had Elasha chained to a wall, turning a tidy sum as he offered the waiting men the opportunity to fuck a princess’s mouth for a small fee. The tougher men took advantage of the handmaidens. Their feistiness had waned somewhat since their capture, but they still held a violent spark of defiance that made them entertainingly dangerous prey. But despite the valuable appetizers filling the temple, Corona remained the ultimate delicacy. Even as more and more names were sliced into her scarred body, a special kind of radiant beauty filled her, made all the more beautiful by the state of constant suffering she was kept in. When no inch of her skin remained unmarred by a collection of letters, fresh names were dragged through her flesh, overlapping with those beneath. The most cherished portions of her body to sign remained largely the same, ensuring that the most important men to fuck her had no chance of identifying their own signings, only brief glimpses of their names even remotely visible beneath multiple layers of scar tissue.

It took several days before Bonaluria’s grief for her goddess dwindled away completely. None of them were given any time to rest, the event going on endlessly. There were times when her exhaustion became severe enough that she simply passed out, lying listlessly as men had their way with her. Even Gwynnestri’s insanity-bolstered stamina could not sustain her, although Bonaluria suspected perhaps her former holy sister had been fucked sane during the course of the event when she caught her whispering urgently to the drow pumping away at her swollen pussy, begging him to strangle her to death. She’d looked relieved when she coaxed him to action, eyes rolling back as he mashed his thumbs into her throat. The guards were quick to yank the aggressive drow off of her, hacking off his right hand as punishment. Bonaluria had thought she’d seen something close to disappointment in Gwynnestri’s eyes as she coughed air through her bruised windpipe. But then the look was gone, and the psychotic priestess returned to playing with herself while beckoning another man to come over and sooth her aching throat with a load of his seed.

When every drow male had violated Corona’s body in some way or another, the lesser races were allowed to take their turns. Packs of goblins worked away at her in groups of three or four, tinkering with the goddess’s flesh, working to pump mind-destroying pleasure through her. But the pain and misery she’d sustained up until that point was too great to be contended with. Their efforts only worked to further torment and humiliate her. The goblins considered it a failure, but the drow god and goddess overseeing the festivities were quite pleased with the outcome.

The orcs used her roughly. Even rougher when they were informed they could beat the goddess during their usages. They slammed their fists into her scarred flesh, snapping her bones and pulverizing her organs, as they rammed their cocks into her holes. They tore clumps of bloody feathers from her wings and forced her to swallow them. They beat her face so badly that her right cheek caved in and one of her eyes popped free from its socket. Corona was given lengthier gaps between her usages while the orcs had their fun with her, allowing her body time to recover from the violent beatings they unleashed upon her.

Ogres came next, each of them breaking open Corona’s holes with their massive members, although none were large enough to come close to the level of devastation Chaulssin had given her. Not that it stopped the giants from trying. They fucked their full lengths into the goddess’s body, leaving her innards a gory mess of pulverized organs basted in soupy pools of jizz.

The goddess was only vaguely recognizable by the time the full assortment of higher lifeforms finished using her. Every inch of her body was scarred with the overlapping collection of thousands of names. When the names carved across her front were too numerous and still bleeding to allow for any further etchings, she was rolled over to expose more flesh to use as a marking pad. When her backside got to a similar point, she was turned again, revealing the healed scar tissue ready to be used once more. From the soles of her feet to her scalp, down each limb, even through the thin skin hiding beneath her thickly feathered wings, she bore numerous names, each one left by a man who’d violated her, used her as nothing more than a pleasantly fuckable piece of trash.

When the last of the ogres finally spat his messy spunk into Corona’s mangled body and trudged out of the temple, Bonaluria had dared to hope that the event had finally come to an end. Just kill her already, she thought selfishly, ashamed to find herself yearning for the brothel. She’d not found anything close to a pleasant day at the place and she suspected she’d find only further torment upon her return – if she was allowed to return – but at least there she had moments, far too brief, of reprieve between her numerous assaults. She glared over at the disfigured beauty strapped to the altar. The love she’d had for the woman had been the purest love she’d ever known, but she felt none of it lingering within her. Now she looked upon Corona with hateful disdain. She regretted devoting her life to the goddess. Perhaps without her added dose of daily worship, the bitch would have done her a favor and died already. She begged the drow to finish off the ugly lump of holy meat groaning pathetically on the altar, certain that her endless stream of rapes had to finally be at an end.

When the first of the spider lizards was herded through the temple doors, Bonaluria began to sob. It appeared that Irae’s claim that every cock in the underdark would have a chance to violate Corona’s body would be carried out the most perverse of extremes. After twenty years of being a whore to the drow, the former priestess did not have enough strength left in her to even feign surprise at the revelation. All she could do was watch as the spider-lizard mounted the goddess and silently beg for the beasts to be quick with their business. An attendant stood beside Corona, dagger in hand, meticulously marking out etchings for each of the beasts that had their way with the disgraced goddess. Individual names, it seemed, were not important. Only an extensive, impossible to decipher record of all of Corona’s rapes was.

It took several more days until every manner of beast lurking within the Menzoberranzan was led into the temple. Giant spiders, their minds leashed by dark magic, stuffed Corona’s body full of their eggs only to have them stomped into gooey mush by the heavy boots of drow soldiers. Hounds knotted themselves into her tight asshole before having their pricks popped free, leaving the orifice to gape open obscenely as the goddess shat out gooey streams of canine ejaculate. Several horses stolen from the surface were brought in to pound away at her cunt and ass with their flat-headed pricks, but after the Shadow Dragon and the ogres, even those extreme penetrations seemed comical. Each beast earned a mark on Corona’s scarred flesh, although none of them possessed the intelligence to comprehend what was happening. They only knew that the pliant lump strapped down before them was pleasant to hump into. That limited comprehension was more than enough for them to serve their purpose.

Surely, that’s the end of it, Bonaluria thought wearily as she lapped at the cum squirting from her latest user’s dick, watching a mangy runt of a dog kicked from the temple and into the waiting hands of the butcher lying in wait.

Again, the exhausted priestess was wrong. That the trolls had been left until the very end showed just how little the drow thought of them. Freed from their coffins for a brief period, they were ushered into the temple and set loose upon Corona. They humped away at her with psychotic frenzy, caring not that their toy had been a beloved deity once. The trolls may have possessed names at some point, but they’d long forgotten them, along with the ability to write. So the same method as was done with the beasts was utilized again, with the attendee scrawling out TROLLS in big, bleeding letters across Corona’s belly, before adding a stroke for each of the lunatics that violated her. After nearly another week and a thousand more rapes, Corona’s time as a bound-up fuck-doll finally came to an end.

Released from her chains, Corona was made to stand on the altar. The weakness in her legs was too great to keep her on them for long, so more chains were used to keep her up. They kept her legs parted, her arms out to her sides. Hooks were driven through her wings, forcing them to expand fully. She was left to stand there for a full day. No one touched her. No one even approached her. There was no need to. Every male in the underdark had already sampled her and the leftovers weren’t nearly appealing enough o draw interest from even the most desperate man, outside of the trolls. And they were all locked up in their coffins again. The message was clear enough. Corona, goddess of light and justice for the elven race, was now nothing more than the most raped woman in all of history. The layered scars covering every inch of her flesh were mirrored on her psyche. There was no pride left in her, no air of superiority or divine grace.

As a pathetic sign of their everlasting devotion to their goddess, even when it was so obvious that their goddess no longer believed in herself, the handmaidens still showed signs of aggressive rebellion against their captors. With the festivities now winding down, their spirited efforts were no longer a source of entertainment but a sign that the Avariel were too troublesome to keep around. One by one, they were brought before Corona, forced to kneel before her and stare up at what had been done to their deity and given the chance to forsake her and embrace the drow as their new masters.

Khiiral – still by far the feistiest of the Avariel – was the first to kneel, her legs kicked out from under her in order to force her to assume the position. Irae asked her to submit. Khiiral responded with a toothless scowl and spat a wad of blood and jizz towards the albino. With a nod from Irae, the handmaiden’s wings were viciously hacked from her back. Khiiral screamed, fell into a gasping heap against the bloody floor, and then was dragged back up onto her knees and asked, a second time, to submit. The handmaiden twisted her head away from the woman, staring angrily at the nearest pew. Irae was unbothered by the refusal and signaled the drow guard to lop off the handmaiden’s arms. Before she had a chance to ask for the Avariel’s obedience a third time, Khiiral responded, shrieking out that she would never betray Corona. The words were a little muddy between the shrieks of agony and the missing teeth, but clear enough to understand. She’d barely finished speaking them before her head was hacked away.

The second handmaiden – Pirphal – was dropped into Khiiral’s place after the dead Avariel’s twitching husk was dragged off to the side. Her defiance seemed to be wavering, but after a few moments of panicked breathing, she steadied herself and seemed to find a comforting calmness in the face of the pain waiting to strike her down. Irae asked her to submit anyway, and received only stoic silence in response as Pirphal stared up at Corona’s ruined flesh with something like awe and sadness. The handmaiden’s silence was broken by her anguished scream as her belly was split open and her steaming guts came spilling out of her, but she managed to seal her lips tightly when Irae asked the second time. Sighing with annoyance, Irae barked to the guard to just finish the bitch. A moment later, the man’s sword was rammed through Pirphal’s back, exploding from between her jizz-glazed tits. She stared down at the bloody blade, a priceless expression of shock filling her face before the slackness of death stole it away.

With the butchered remains of her sisters only a few feet away and the disfigured visage of her goddess suspended before her, Erlan was trembling badly as she was made to kneel. She broke into heavy sobs as Irae asked her to submit, sputtering out pleas for Corona to forgive her. Irae rolled her eyes with impatience, a moment away from ordering the final handmaiden’s execution when the winged elf threw herself to the ground, shrieking out her submission to the drow race and forsaking her goddess. The sudden turn surprised Irae. She didn’t fully trust the Avariel’s submission, but the look of betrayal on Corona’s hideously scarred face was too perfect to ruin by cutting it short with Erlan’s death. Instead, she instructed the guard to snap the magically imbued shock collar around the handmaiden’s neck. Even if the woman rediscovered her spark of defiance, it would easily handled. If she proved too troublesome as a slave later on, she would be disposed of in the same brutal fashion as her sisters had been.

With the handmaidens dealt with, the time had finally come for Corona’s execution. A noose, woven from the harvested hair of elf women, was secured to the temple’s rafters. Vhaerun was given the honors of slipping the noose over Corona’s head and cinching it tightly around her throat. As he loomed behind the defiled deity, he leaned in close to her, taking the opportunity to get a feel of her heavily scarred tit flesh. “You’ve done such a good job looking after these elves,” he growled into her ear as he teased at the lumps where Corona’s nipples had been. “Ferrying them into a blissful afterlife. Someone will need to look after all those souls once you’re gone. I hope you don’t mind that I’ve decided to take up your mantel.” He leaned over Corona’s shoulder to see her reaction to the news. It wasn’t much, but the spark of sudden dread that flashed in her exhausted eyes was enough to bring a smile to his lips. “That’s right, cunt. That heaven you made for them will become a never-ending orgy of suffering. Even death will not spare these pests from torment.” He tightened the knot on the noose, forcing it to dig into Corona’s throat. “I only have a single regret. You won’t be there to witness it. So please, as a personal favor to me, spend this last little time you’ve got imagining it, won’t you?”

It was clear to Vhaerun that Corona would have given anything to deny him his request, just as it was clear that she could not help but think of all of the terrible things he planned on doing to the souls tucked safely away in the great beyond. After more than a month of endless rape and torture, the goddess found she was still capable of shedding tears. More than that, she found that she still had something to fight for, even though all hope of saving herself was lost. The chains were loosened from her limbs and the hooks were removed from her wings and she found she had enough strength to remain standing on her own.

That was a start.

The worship and devotion of her priestesses had bolstered her strength throughout the years, the tending of her handmaidens had cultivated and focused it. But even before all of them, before she’d risen to her full state of power, she’d still been strong. She’d simply spent too much time being endlessly adored to remember that there’d been a goddess within her all along waiting to emerge. One born of self-reliance and unwavering devotion to those things she’d grown to be known for. And if ever there was a time that the elves needed a little light and more than a little justice, it was then. She only required a little time to remember how to be a strong goddess again. Her legs were shaking, the muscles threatening to give out at any moment, but they were holding her up. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for her to work with. She only needed a little – 

Vhaerun shoved Corona off the altar.

She dropped a foot before the noose pulled tight around her throat, leaving her suspended and flailing at the end of it. With her restored desire to live, the goddess stretched her wings, wincing as the pain from the still healing hook holes shot through her. She flapped wildly for a few moments as the initial panic of her hanging overwhelmed her, paired with the pain of moving her heavily scarred flesh after such a lengthy period of simply laying around being fucked. Corona’s resolve helped to sooth the pain, lessen her panic. After a few moments of dangling, she managed to catch air within her wings, beating them in unison to lift her body higher into the air, enough to lessen the strangling tightness of the noose. Her head grew dizzy with thoughts, most of them devoted to keeping her in the air and away from the fatal snare of the noose. Fighting through an entire city of drow would be impossible in her weakened state. The best she could hope for was to escape them somehow, return to the surface. There were still free elves out in the world. If she could gather them together, provide them a sanctuary, perhaps they could keep the drow at bay long enough to repopulate. And once they had, they would march into the underdark and eradicate the drow menace once and for all.

As Corona fought to keep herself from hanging and filled her mind with far fetched fantasies of revenge, Vhaerun and Kiaransalee watched with great amusement, already feeling the goddess’s divine essence being sapped away from her courtesy of the specially crafted noose. Although the planning and orchestration of Corona’s demise had been by the hands of the drow, the method being used was as elven as it could be. On a purely mechanical level, a betrayal of that magnitude worked against Corona in ways she had no way of discerning. She attributed the growing weakness in her wings to nothing more than their badly scarred state and prolonged disuse when it was actually something far worse. The waning belief in her had been enough to weaken her to the point of an easy capture. With the pilfered elven hair woven into the noose, her people had now sentenced her to death, whether they chose to or not.

The rules of divinity were a tangled and messy business.

Despite all of this unknowingly damning the goddess, Corona managed to find the strength to keep flying, her hands coming up to work at the tight knot in the rope. Amazingly, she managed to make progress. Even if she managed to pull the noose from her bruised neck, she had no hope of making it out of the temple. She’d be butchered into bloody pieces before she made it to the building’s doors. But she would die with some of her divine essence intact. Even a single spark of it was enough to make Corona dangerous, even after her physical form was destroyed.

Irae allowed the impressive display of willpower to go on long enough to glimpse a flicker of concern flit across her goddess’ face before she lifted her hand and gave a simple snap of her fingers. This is why you love me as much as I love you, she thought as she admired her deity. I plan for every possible problem.

A pair of archers hurried into the temple, arrows already notched into their bows. The stopped and took aim at the elven goddess fluttering before them. Being the best marksmen in the drow army, they had no trouble firing their arrows into Corona’s frantically beating wings. The goddess let out a half-strangled scream, hands dropping away from the partially loosened knot to stretch towards the arrows piercing her wings. She managed to grasp one of them, tearing it free. But even as she tossed the bloody arrow to the floor, two more arrows were rushing to meet her, one of them managing to crunch through a critical bone in her right wing. The wing fluttered in agony, half-crippled, while she flexed the left wing harder to keep herself aloft. She dropped slightly in her efforts, but managed to keep the hair-woven rope loose enough to continue breathing.

Adjusting to the agony of moving her broken wing, Corona fought hard, her scarred flesh becoming layered in sweat. She managed to slop her slow decent and hover in place. Then, incredibly, she managed to regain the height she’d lost. Her face – hideous and strained – filled with fury as she struggled to deny the pain ripping through her body and the pervasive weakness eating away at her very core.

Igniting the oil-soaked rags wrapped around the tips of their arrows, the archers fired a final volley into the goddess’s tortured wings. The flames caught and spread quickly, turning her feathers into ash. Corona’s eyes bulged, mouth gaping open, as a brand-new breed of pain shot through her. She managed a horrendous shriek before her body dropped, the noose cinching closed around her throat and crushing her windpipe. The flapping of her burning wings continued, albeit as only the sporadic twitching of tortured flesh. Burning feathers slipped free from the wings, fluttering through the air around the goddess as the rumbling inferno rapidly depleted its source of fuel and flickered out, leaving her wings blackened and useless tatters of thin skin.

Corona clawed at her throat, slashing open deep gouges through the scar tissue as she kicked wildly at the end of the noose. Her long legs swayed, feet angling downward, toes expanding as wide as they could in a futile effort to find something solid to push against. The scarred lumps of her tits jiggled as drool flooded her mouth and poured across her chin, drizzling the mounds in a fresh layer of glistening dampness. Her head pounded, lungs burning within her, as she strained to draw air through her fully constricted esophagus. Vhaerun and Kiaransalee moved closer to Corona’s flailing form, basking in the ethereal warmth being squeezed out of the dying goddess. They moaned and groaned, freely caressing themselves as they felt their power increasing with each frantic beat of Corona’s heart.

The elven goddess’s desperate devotion to her cherished souls kept her fighting at the end of the noose well beyond the point that any mortal woman would have been capable of sustaining. Her spirited flailing gradually diminished, even as the fire in her bloodshot eyes continued to burn bright. It was only when she’d grown too weak to offer much more than the occasional jerk of an arm against her hip that the fire sizzled away, leaving behind only a puny ex-deity terrified of the oblivion eagerly waiting for her just around the corner. A handful of moments later and even that was gone, leaving Corona’s dangling corpse to drain her divine piss over the drow altar beneath her.

Invigorated both by the thrilling Corona’s thrilling execution and the fresh power surging through them, Vhaerun and Kiaransalee scanned the temple, searching for a treat to celebrate their victory with. Within moments of one another, their eyes came to rest on Bonaluria. The former priestess took notice of the drow god and goddess staring at her, releasing a pathetic whine as the archers pumped their cocks side-by-side into her gaping asshole. She didn’t know why she’d suddenly become such an appealing victim, but she suspected it had something to do with the fact that Gwynnestri had finally managed to choke herself to death on a drow guard’s cock while the trolls had been having their fun with Corona and Amisra and Clanire had fallen into dazed, unresponsive states a few days earlier.

The archers were disappointed that they would not get to finish their race to see which of them could finish in Bonaluria’s ass the fastest, but they hid it well as they shoved the whimpering elf into the clutches of the deities. Vhaerun pulled Bonaluria into his arms, lifting her with ease and lowering her onto his rigid erection. The former priestess screamed as Kiaransalee pulled her upper torso back, bending her spine at a painful angle as she could force Bonaluria’s head between her thighs, grinding her slippery slit across the elf’s terrified face. Vhaerun clutched at Bonaluria’s bouncing tit-flesh, squeezing the mounds hard enough to leave bruises as he hammered into her cunt with blinding speed, first cracking and then crushing her pelvic bone. The elf screamed into Kiaransalee’s dripping sex, choking on the drizzle of juices that poured from the goddess into her open mouth.

Trapped between the sexual frenzy of two wicked deities, Bonaluria did not last long. Vhaerun fucked a gory hole through her uterus before spearing through the flesh of her abdomen, bloody prick sliding in and out of the bleeding wound. Kiaransalee stretched the priestess’s arms up to bite through her fingers, swallowing each bloody digit down. Her thighs pressed tightly against the sides of Bonaluria’s head, orgasmic contractions fracturing the elf’s skull. Vhaerun ripped her tits from her chest, chewing away a fatty bite of one before flinging them to the floor. He settled his hands around her hips, twisting the lower half of her body until her spine gave out, snapping audibly as her flesh stretched and tore. The angle of his thrusting cock shifted as he stared down at the rippling flesh of the elf’s buttocks. Stepping back, he finished tearing Bonaluria in half, allowing a tangled mess of her innards to come spilling out of her. With a cry of release, Kiaransalee gushed her juices into the elf’s mouth before drawing her legs closed around her victim’s head, popping her skull like a ripe melon. The squishy warmth of Bonaluria’s brains trickling along her thighs drove her into another orgasm. She moaned, slipping a hand down to her crotch to finger a few of the larger chunks of brain up into her convulsing cunt.

Bonaluria’s many years of suffering ended in a sudden flash as her skull collapsed. A pure light enveloped her, warming her as her soul was whisked away from the hell that had become her life. The lapsed priestess suddenly found her faith in her goddess restored, guilt weighing heavily on her spiritual shoulders as she marveled in Corona’s capacity for mercy, even after the goddess’s cruel demise. She drifted in the light for what felt like forever before she realized she could hear something. Dread oozed into her as the dull sounds became clear to her. Screams of such anguish that she was certain she’d somehow survived her head being crushed. The pure light flickered, suddenly tainted by an oppressive shadow. Fuzzy images flickered into her line of sight, shifting gradually into terrible focus. In what felt like forever but was in fact only mere moments after her death, Bonaluria saw the afterlife that waited for her. Not the everlasting bliss promised to her by Corona, but the twisted abomination that Vhaerun had already created sometime between shoving his cock into her physical body and ripping it in half.

In what would have been a heartbeat if Bonaluria still possessed a heart, the priestess found herself sucked into the maelstrom of rape and agony that was now her entire existence, alongside that of every elf who’d ever died before her. She thought she caught a glimpse of Gwynnestri amidst the endless field of writhing flesh. She hoped the woman’s madness was helping her out well enough in the beyond as it had in the final decades of her life, but she doubted it. That thought was the last sane thing Bonaluria managed before she lost herself in the endless void of pain, violation, and screaming.


	12. The Last

100 years after the fall of Soleila…

The years had started to drag for Nimor, although the mission was not yet done. There were still elves in the world and he’d taken it upon himself to lead the raiding parties onto the surface to track them down and snuff them out. Life in Menzoberranzan had became a paradise for men, a hell for women. But even paradise could grow stale. Even the Avariel handmaiden had lost all semblance of spirit in the time since she’d submitted to the drow in the face of her thoroughly defiled goddess. The elven slaves were settled fully into their lives of torture and sexual molestation. The drow women were even more broken. Many of the men in Menzoberranzan were quite content with the state of things, but Nimor had always been a hunter of some degree or another. The slaves bored him. Even spending long days torturing them with methodical slowness, striving to see just how much he could cut away from them while keeping them alive, had grown stale.

The hunt on the surface had not. A bit frustrating, perhaps, due to the scarcity of prey available to him, but any free elf that remained still possessed a will to live, a desire to avoid the clutches of the drow. Even that was gradually diminishing, as more and more of them were killed, the knowledge that their race was right on the cusp of nonexistence somehow permeating every elf he found over the last year. He’d not found any men to kill in nearly a decade. That alone was enough to ensure that – even if they were left alone – the elf women still alive could not breed new elves. Not pure bloods, at least. But a dissolution of their bloodline was not enough. Only total eradication would satisfy Nimor and his god.

Much had changed since the drow had launched their unexpected assault from the dark. They’d not only managed to strike a crippling blow to the heart of one of the mightiest, longest lived kingdoms in all of history, but they’d subsequently succeeded in adjusting the way the world at large viewed elves. It had not been a simple task, but it had been quite amusing to Nimor. As he led his band of assassins, tracking a hint of a rumor of a suspicion of an inkling, he thought back on how much the world had changed, in large part due to acts he’d personally committed, or – at the very least – had ordered. He wasn’t prone to reflection much, outside of lonely nights when he found himself without a bitch to attend to his needs and he needed a mental frolicking to judge the pace of his stroking hand. But now, at what he was more and more believing was the very end of his long quest, he allowed himself to fill the time with memories of the most delightful atrocities he’d taken part in over the last century.

* * *

So many years had passed since Shenarah Adyarus had slipped through drow clutches and escaped her home city that the memories of Soleila and a prosperous elven race were faded in her mind. She only wished that the memories of the stench of blood, waste, and decay would leave her. She’d been barely more than a child the day the drow had come. In the chaos sweeping through Soleila, panicked inspiration had worked in her favor. After a brief, rough rape, she’d had a blade shoved into her gut before being discarded. The wound was nothing fatal, something she’d not known at the time, but the pain and fear had spurred her to squeeze her way into a pile of already dead elves. She’d hidden there, breathing in the stench of their deaths in short, shallow gasps as she listened to the city around her screaming out in agony. She stayed there, muscles cramped, for days. When she’d needed to relieve herself, she did, quickly learning to ignore the shame of it. When the hunger in her gut grew so painful that it inspired delirium, she’d chewed away a few mouthfuls of putrid elf meat. And when the forbidden meal revolted in her stomach, she’d puked as quietly as possible. Eventually, after the screaming had stopped, she realized the drow were gone and – somehow – she’d survived.

Flashes of being crammed between cold, bloated, lifeless flesh still haunted her every night, but she’d managed to escape Soleila, managed to avoid the undead hordes of reanimated elves, and had gotten as far from elven territory and any entrances to the underdark she could. The small village she’d chosen to stop in had originally just been a waypoint for her. Somewhere to have a decent meal, as much alcohol as her limited funds could afford, and a warm bed to rest her aching muscles. But the humans had been surprisingly generous upon her arrival. News of what had befallen the elves had reached them before Shenarah had. They offered her refuge. Exhausted from the nomadic life she’d taken up and less than thrilled about the prospect of returning to it, she’d accepted their offer. Their kindness and her own stillness finally afforded her the opportunity to grieve for the first time in the many years since the invasion of Soleila. She’d wept for days, first for all her fellow elves who’d suffered and died, then for those that had lived but were maybe even now still captives of the wicked drow, and then – finally – she’d wept for herself, and all the things she’d had to do to keep herself alive over the years.

Shenarah had escaped with only a small scar just above her belly button. She’d maintained her elven beauty beyond that. Being on the move constantly and with no skills in combat or weapons, she’d only had one true means of earning money to keep herself from starving. With elves an endangered and rare species, an elven whore was quite the exotic commodity, not that it ever earned Shenarah much. She took whatever customer she could find, accepting whatever currency they offered in exchange for open access to her body. She’d been ripped off numerous times, outright raped even more, but aside from that, she managed to make enough coin to keep her belly reasonably full most of the time and keep her on the road. After witnessing what the drow had done to the rest of the elvish women and the many years of selling herself, Shenarah had accepted her role in the world, until she’d found her refuge.

Many decades after the fall of her kingdom, the elf was terrified to find something she’d long given up hope for. Love.

Lyndon Dewore had not even been born when Soleila had fallen. She was at least three decades his senior, although there was no way to tell by looking at them. Even the many years on the road whoring herself out had not diminished her natural elven beauty much. By human standards, she still appeared to be in her early twenties, compared to Lyndon’s near-thirty age. He’d only just become an apprentice to the village’s butcher, seeing her in the local tavern the night she’d arrived in the village. He’d offered her fresh meat. Nothing high quality, but still better than Shenarah had had in years. He’d even cooked it for her – with spices even. It was not a case of a guilty conscience tossing a few scraps to a vagrant. It was a meal.

Then Lyndon had done the thing that had cemented Shenarah’s love for the man. She’d offered herself to him, as payment for the food, and he’d refused. But not in a way that made it feel like he was disgusted by the sight of her bare elven tits. In a way that left her with the knowledge that he knew she was better than that. As far as Shenarah was concerned, their relationship had begun that night, although there’d been a few weeks of her getting adjusting to stationary living again, as well as the long days of sobbing – most of which he was there for, comforting her as best he could. She’d spent that time trailing him through the village, becoming his shadow. Her romantic feelings were secured, but she was uncertain if he felt similarly in the slightest and did not want to push away the only real friend she’d had since the fall of Soleila. Then one night, after more than a little alcohol consumed between them, he’d finally kissed her and their relationship officially began.

Life among the humans was vastly different from what she still recalled of elven life. They did things so much faster, a byproduct of their significantly reduced lifespans. It was more than a little dizzying for Shenarah at first, but she adjusted to it, found she enjoyed the – to her – fast-paced form of existence. It crowded her days – and her mind – with things to do constantly, keeping her from dwelling on the horrors she’d witnessed and experienced over the last decades. As her relationship with Lyndon grew more serious, with feverish conversations about marriage and children becoming more frequent, Shenarah allowed herself to forget – at least as much as she could – about the wicked drow who’d taken everything from her and her race.

Unfortunately for Shenarah, the drow had not forgotten about their mission to hunt down and eradicate the surface dwelling elves from existence.

Shenarah awoke to an unsettling silence the day she died. She’d lived a life of peace and love long enough that she pushed aside the irrational unease in her gut. Even Lyndon’s absence was not enough to make her acknowledge the foul feelings tugging at the back of her mind. He was being groomed to take over as the village’s butcher and that task resulted in many early morning jobs. Instead, she dressed slowly and combated the unease with thoughts of the previous night, the way Lyndon’s cock had felt inside her, the way his warm seed had felt as it had fired into the depths of her womanhood. She was certain, despite their genetic differences, that this time his cum would take hold within her, grow into a new life. She recalled the old ways, how her pure-blood race looked down upon half-breeds and allowed herself an amused smile. She did not care that her child would not be a pure elf. She would love it all the more strongly because it would mean that the elf race could survive, in some capacity, through her. More than that, she would love it because it would come from Lyndon. She found herself incapable of not loving anything related to him.

Slipping into the dress Lyndon had purchased for her from a traveling caravan the previous summer, Shenarah readied herself to head out into the village to pick up a few supplies the house she shared with her lover required. The dress was a little fancier, certainly a good deal more flashy, than the rest of her casual attire, but she loved the way she looked in it, the way it left the upper portions of her breasts on display and kept her long, smooth legs visible to any casual observer. Along with the errands, she had every intent on visiting Lyndon at the butchery, provide him a pleasant eyeful of what was waiting for him when he got home, leaving him in the mood to fuck another load of jizz into her to further bolster the possibility of potential offspring. Perhaps, if he’s not too busy, I can even tempt him into a quick joining someplace reasonably private, she thought with a smile, the dread in her belly all but forgotten as she stepped out of the house and strolled into the heart of the village.

Fresh unease struck Shenarah as she stepped onto the main thoroughfare of the village. The town was far from heavily populated, but considering the time of day, she’d grown to expect some degree of activity in the heart of the village. Instead, she saw no one on the street. Assuring herself that the terror creeping up her spine was simply the byproduct of irrational fears left burrowed deep in the back of her brain from the trauma she’d endured such a long time ago, Shenarah did not obey the instinctive reaction to start running. The cost of her self-assured safety proved to be everything she had when the drow pooled in from around buildings to surround her. Animalistic panic overtook the elf the moment she saw the first obsidian-skinned assassin. She made an attempt to turn and flee, only to run into the waiting grip of another drow who was quick to wrestle her into submission, ignoring the pathetic sobs already pouring out of her.

Nimor grinned down at Shenarah. “Nice home you’ve found for yourself, whore,” he growled, twisting her around and pulling her close against his chest. He pressed his crotch against her struggling posterior, grinding the growing stiffness in his pants against her finely sculpted buttocks. “I bet you even thought these humans had accepted you as one of their own, didn’t you? Why don’t we see how true that is?” With the elf secured in his tight grip, Nimor let out a sharp whistle.

The residents of the village emerged from the shops and homes they’d been hiding in. Their expressions ranged from dead-eyed to worried to ashamed, but none of them looked willing to come to her aid. And, sure enough, as they grew into a small crowd, none of them even dared to speak up on Shenarah’s behalf. She tried to pull away from Nimor as her eyes fell upon Lyndon, calling out to him, begging him to do something. Her heart shattered as he simply stared back at her, terror in his eyes, and did nothing.

Nimor chuckled, openly groping Shenarah’s breasts as he ground his stiff member against her buttocks. “Allow me to ask you all a question,” he called to the humans. “You’ve no doubt heard the stories of what we’ve done to this bitch’s people. Did you truly think we were finished? Did you think you could keep this one hidden from us forever? Or that there would not be consequences for harboring an enemy of the drow? It’s clear that none of you could care much for her, seeing as you so willingly cowered before us when we arrived this morning. So why even bother taking the risk? You should have sent her on her way the moment she arrived. Or, even better, if you really felt any form of pity for her, you’d have killed her quickly, saved her from what we’re going to do to her now.” He grinned. “Or maybe that’s the real reason you allowed her to stay. Maybe you just wanted front row seats to the show. Well, you’ve got them now. And I very much recommend you stay seated in them, unless you wish to see your whole worthless village burned to ash.”

Although none of the humans looked particularly happy with allowing the drow to do whatever terrible things they liked to Shenarah, none of them possessed the courage to try to stop Nimor and his pack of assassins. Nimor hooked his fingers into the top of the elf’s low-cut dress, ripping the fabric open and freeing her breasts. A number of the gathered villagers looked away from the elf’s sudden exposure, but Nimor noticed a handful of the men continued to look, saw flickers of shameful lust spark in their eyes. He let out a low laugh as he cupped Shenarah’s tits, rolling his thumbs over her nipples. He gave her chest a thorough groping before ripping her dress further open down the middle. When no inch of her front half was left concealed, he gave her a hard shove, pulling the ruined garment away from her and sending her tumbling onto the ground. With the snap of his fingers and a quick finger motion in her direction, his fellow assassins were quick to move in, already brandishing their stiff flesh.

Shenarah shrieked as she was roughly taken from behind, until those shrieks became urgent gagging around the hard prick that plugged her mouth. Her tits swayed beneath her as she was hammered roughly at each end, body driven back and forth between her drow rapists. The violent assault was enough to kill the sparks of lust he’d seen in the handful of humans. It seemed their deviant tastes weren’t quite strong enough to enjoy the display of a woman they’d grown to know and care for being so brutally attacked. Or perhaps they were simply trying to hide whatever deviance lay in their hearts. Nimor didn’t much care. He let the humans shift uneasily as Shenarah endured her vigorous fuckings, moving forward after some time to feed his own erection up her cum-greased asshole.

As Shenarah coughed and spat a mouthful of jizz across the ground, she whined as Nimor gripped a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back, forcing her to look at Lyndon. “You called out to that one earlier,” he remarked. “Did you actually manage to form a romantic bond with one of these humans?” He laughed, pumping steadily into the elf’s gripping rear. “I recall a time, and it feels like it was not very long ago, that only the most depraved of your kind would stoop low enough to lie with someone who was not your own race. Although, come to think of it, I’ve not had the pleasure of disemboweling an elf male in a couple of decades now. I’m starting to think we’ve finally managed to kill them all. I suppose it was only a matter of time before your natural desires overwhelmed whatever racial prejudices you had. But the way you called out to him, it sounded like you truly cared for him. And that… that is truly hilarious. Because if her felt for you even a fraction of what you seem to feel for him, wouldn’t he have done something? It would have been a sacrifice made in vain, but wouldn’t he have made it anyway if he truly loved you? Instead, he stands there and watches with the others as we defile you, knowing that you will be dead by the time we finish.”

Shenarah sobbed and shook her head, whimpering out denials of Nimor’s words, even as her conflicted mind tussled with the desire to see Lyndon live beyond her and the desire to see him back a bold play that would allow them to die at least within the same day. Nimor only laughed again at her. “Clearly, you need more evidence to convince you that he only ever thought of you as a pretty piece of fuck-meat that was easy for him to play with.” He grunted and came into Shenarah’s bowels, withdrawing and leaving her slumped on the ground. Aiming a finger at Lyndon, he singled the human out. “You,” he growled. “Come over and show me how you like to fuck this elf whore.” Seeing only fearful resistance on his face, Nimor scowled. “Do it, or I’ll make sure the only options you have for bedroom companions after we leave are the severed heads of your neighbors.”

Looking far from pleased, Lyndon moved forward. Shenarah still found herself rationalizing his choice, longing to forgive him for it, but she couldn’t escape the flashes of bitterness swelling within her. She understood that he’d lived with the others in town all his life, but he didn’t love any of them the way he’d claimed to love her. Shouldn’t that have made a difference? Hadn’t he even once claimed, while having his stiffness buried deep inside her, that he would do anything to keep her safe? Die for her, even? Now the only evidence she had to think he wasn’t just enjoying her ordeal was that his cock was only half-erect as he struggled to slide it into her greasy snatch. Not that the flesh remained semi-hard for long once he was inside her. Even with the threat of his own death and the deaths of his neighbors weighing so heavily on him, Shenarah found it difficult to cultivate her sympathy for Lyndon as he sped his thrusts, pumping steadily into her from behind, fucking her like all the drow had, like she was nothing more than an animal.

Nimor watched the young human hump away at the miserable elf for a little bit, amused but not fully satisfied. “Clearly, you misunderstood me,” he hissed. “I didn’t tell you to simply fuck her. I told you to show me how you fuck her. Or is this it? Could you never stomach looking down at her face while you were inside her? These elf cunts are getting desperate as their time winds down, but I doubt she’d have believed you were capable of sacrificing yourself and your village if you hadn’t made some kind of emotional connection with her. And I doubt you did that by rutting her like some common bar wench in a back alley. Do it properly or I start taking heads.”

Shenarah groaned as Lyndon’s prick slid out of her, falling into sobs as he forced her over onto her back. He dropped over her, sliding his body against her, teasing the head of his dick against her folds before easing back into her. He stared down at her, blinking seldomly, face filled with terror and sweat. She thought she detected flashes of self-hatred occasionally, but even that was not enough to soften her swelling hatred for the man. If he’d truly cared so much, he’d have given his life to try to save her by now and avoided the whole situation. Now they were being forced to relive their most intimate moments to an audience half made of terrified villagers and half made of snickering sadists. Perhaps it was the overuse of her sex by that point, but when Lyndon finally unloaded his cum into her, it burned. The feel of his spunk squirting and dribbling into her depths left her feeling sickened in a way that none of her drow rapists had been able to achieve.

“Very good,” Nimor laughed, clapping a hand against Lyndon’s back as the huffing young man pulled free of Shenarah. “No wonder this stupid cunt thought you would be her hero.” He helped Lyndon to his feet, treating him like a long-lost comrade in subterfuge. “What is it you do around here? What’s your profession? I’d wager you might be the sort to live off the generosity of whatever thankful whore you lured into your bed, but this thing on the ground wouldn’t have had much in the way of riches to support you.”

Lyndon muttered his response, barely visible, face red with shame.

“What’s that, friend?” Nimor growled, leaning closer. “I didn’t catch that.”

“Assistant to the butcher,” he spat out.

Nimor’s eyes lit up. “Ohh, so you’re a man who knows how to work with meat. I know an orc who goes by the title Butcher, but – between you and me – he’s really nothing more than a savage, looking for anything to hack to pieces. Still, it’s marvelous watching him work. You’re lucky he didn’t come wandering through here instead, let me tell you. He wouldn’t have been satisfied with just chopping the elf bitch up. He’d have done the whole lot of you. Better my group found you. We’re a reasonable sort.” He motioned to Shenarah. “Tell me, if she were a sow brought in for slaughter, how would you do it?”

A fresh jolt of horrified revulsion passed through Lyndon’s face. He stared pleadingly at Nimor. “Don’t make me say it.”

“But if you don’t tell me, I’ll have to figure it out on my own,” Nimor shot back. “And since I wouldn’t want to screw it up with the elf, I’d have to use some volunteers. Who knows how many tries it would take me before I stumbled onto the right method?”

Lyndon closed his eyes, squeezed some tears from them, took a breath, and gave the drow what he wanted. “I’d kill her quick. Either a sudden, hard blow to the back of her head or – if she were already suspended by her feet – take the head off completely to get the blood draining.”

Nimor frowned. “Obviously. Any idiot knows that. But let’s say you’ve been given special orders for this sow. That you had to butcher her while she was still alive. What then?”

Lyndon took a few more moments before responding. “Suspend her by her ankles and then slit her throat.”

Nimor smacked the human across the back of his head. “Stop trying to weasel your way into giving this bitch a relatively painless end. You know that’s not what I’m after.”

“You’re asking my professional opinion,” Lyndon fired back, managing to find some ounce of courage. “If she dies slow, in pain, her meat will be ruined. In fact, what you’ve done to her already is enough. She’s terrified, in pain, expecting to die. If you really want the meat to taste good, the best course of action at this point would be to let her go, let her live until she’s forgotten all this and then try again when she least suspects it. Without all the… tenderizing.”

Nimor rolled his eyes. “You know, you’d be one hell of a comedian if I wasn’t so annoyed with you right now.” He snapped a finger up, singling out a woman at random in the crowd. “Bring me that one’s head. Let’s see how our man Lyndon likes resting his balls on a pair of dead lips.”

“Wait,” Lyndon cried out before the assassin could reach the terrified woman. “You’d hang her, like I said, by her feet. You’d take a sharp…” He faltered, already seeing the displeasure in Nimor’s eyes. “I mean a dull knife. Maybe even a bit of rock with an edge to it. You’d cut open her belly so you could pull out what’s inside. The guts, the stomach, reproductive organs. Then you’d – “

“Y’know, friend,” Nimor said, passing his dagger into Lyndon’s hand. “I’m really more of a visual learner. Should I have the boys string the elf bitch up or would you rather pick someone from the crowd?”

Lyndon said nothing, trembling as he held the blade, focusing only on the fact that it at least wasn’t a bit of rock. His lack of response was enough to give Nimor his answer. The well at the center of town had a wooden hatch over it to keep out rain and leaves. It was tall enough and sturdy enough to work. After her hands were bound at the small of her back, ropes were tied to Shenarah’s ankles, her sobbing figure dragged over to the well before being hoisted up and left to dangle. Nimor pushed Lyndon along, ready in case the young fool tried anything stupid with the weapon he’d been given. But Lyndon’s concern for himself and his fellow humans was still too great to take the risk. Even the temptation to lash out at Shenarah and kill her quickly was squashed. It was obvious the drow assassin knew more about the art of butchery than he claimed to. Lyndon suspected that even if he were to do something as subtle as nicking a vital inner working to lessen Shenarah’s suffering, it would be noticed. If he wanted even a remote chance of saving himself and the other villagers, he had to play along. Which meant hurting his lover as much as possible before she expired.

Hating himself more with each passing moment and uncertain how he could possibly live with the actions he was about to perform, Lyndon lifted the dagger and pressed the tip of the blade against the bottom of Shenarah’s belly, just above her pubic bone. He pushed in slowly, piercing her skin and watching as the vibrant red fluid leaked out of her, running in swift lines across her abdomen and curling over the undersides of her dangling breasts. The flow of blood strengthened as he opened up a deep gash across her belly. From there, he cut downwards, allowing her cut flesh to peel open, tangles of her steaming innards already surging towards him. He turned away after only a moment of looking into the depths of his lover’s body, fighting back the urge to puke. He was thankful for the handful of moments Nimor gave him to get himself under control, forcing his mind to perceive Shenarah as nothing more than a squealing pig strung up for butchering. A mindless animal destined to become someone’s dinner. Nothing more. Certainly not the woman he’d fallen in love with and had wished to build a family with. That woman had never existed. If she had, he’d never do such a terrible thing to her, no matter what the cost.

Opening his eyes, Lyndon returned his now stony gaze to the guts half-hanging from Shenarah’s opened abdomen. He buried his free hand elbow-deep into her, pulling her innards further out of her so he could carefully cut them loose. Sloppy strings of severed intestine dropped to the ground. Typically, he’d have cut the guts in as large of portions as he could to offer a wider range of sausage casing lengths, but he knew what his drow master wanted. He diced the elf’s guts into small pieces, knowing each cut sent jolts of agony rushing through her. It helped his mind to distance itself from what he was truly doing that her endless screams were sounding less and less like a sentient being and more like a wild animal’s. He cut out her kidneys and let them drop, one of them slipping loose from his sticky fingers and bouncing off the edge of the well before dropping into the water down below. Lyndon hardly noticed, already slicing away long chunks of Shenarah’s liver. The loss of such precious organs guaranteed that she would not live, but she could go on suffering for a good while without them. When he finally had little more than a bloody, hollow cavity to stare into, he guided the dagger inside her, carefully cutting the blade through more of her tissue. He came away with the ruined remains of her womanhood, uterus bloated with the jizz of so many men – including his own.

Nimor took the prize from Lyndon before the apprentice butcher could let the organs drop to the ground. He crouched in front of Shenarah, showing her the messy remnants of her sex. Her fallopian tubes dangled uselessly over his wrist as he secured a firm grip around her uterus, giving it a hard squeeze. Cum spurted in gooey clumps down the length of her vaginal canal and leaked from the neatly severed flesh at the end. He aimed the flesh hose towards the elf, giving her a gruesome facial from the combined seed. Then he gagged her horrid shrieking with the crushed uterus before returning his attention to Lyndon. “What’s next?”

“I could go deeper. Cut out the more vital organs.”

“And why would you ever do that if she’s still got life in her?” Nimor sneered.

Lyndon sighed. “In that case, I’d break the body down into more manageable pieces. Split her down the middle from crotch to head.”

Nimor grinned. “You couldn’t possibly do that with such a little knife.” A spark of delight flashed in the assassin’s eyes. “Could you?”

“I could,” Lyndon freely admitted. “But it would damage the blade. Its not meant to cut through bone.”

Nimor gave the dagger a long look before taking it back from the man. “It does have some sentimental value,” he admitted. “A gift from the previous owner after I used it to see how much of her skin I could cut off before she died.”

“There’s a saw in the butcher’s shop,” Lyndon offered, his voice as dead as his face, fully settled into a state of perpetual trauma. He waited numbly as Nimor sent one of his men into the shop to procure the tool, unsurprised to find that the drow chose the older, worn out saw over the new one the butcher had purchased just last week. The blade was rusted, thoroughly stained with blood, several of the teeth bent. Still capable of performing its task, just with a good deal more effort. And, for Shenarah, a good deal more suffering.

Lyndon stepped in front of the gutted elf, guiding the worn-out blade of the saw between her spread thighs. The lips of her cunt and asshole were already smeared with blood that had leaked from the loose orifices during her disembowelment. He stared at his doomed lover’s sex and forced himself to see it as only meat. Then he got back to work.

Shenarah’s screams vibrated against her mangled uterus, fallopian tubes framing her horrified face as the saw blade slashed through the sensitive flesh of her pussy lips and asshole. Hot blood gushed over her flexed thighs and poured down her back. The crack of her ass became a widening wound, peeling apart as Lyndon worked his way lower. The saw met its first real obstacle when he reached her pelvic bone. Tightening his grip, he bored down on the bones, chipping his way through them until they were too weak to hold out any longer. The resistance he met became lopsided once he was through her pelvis. The hollowed-out gut – already slashed open – cut with relative ease, while the length of her spine became a constant struggle. He cracked through Shenarah’s vertebrae one after the next, sliding the blood-soaked sawblade back and forth through her in long, stuttering strokes. He cut through the ropes binding her wrists – and lopped off one of her thumbs – freeing the elf’s arms to paw helplessly at the bloody, gore-covered ground beneath her.

Reaching the bottom of the elf’s ribcage, Lyndon knew the rest of his job would be difficult with so much dense bone to get through. He loosened his grip, took a few moments to regain his breath and stretch his fingers, and then got back to it. The only solace he took as he worked the blade further through Shenarah’s chest was that – while she was still alive – she’d slipped so close to death that she no longer had the strength to scream. An explosive spray of blood suddenly shot forth from her partially cleaved chest when he reached her heart, showering his sweaty face in a layer of crimson. The elf’s body offered a few weak shudders before falling limp before him. Swallowing down the horror and self-hatred he felt at what he’d done to the woman he loved, he kept on sawing, wanting to be done with the whole gruesome task. He averted his eyes when he finally reached Shenarah’s head, not wanting to watch her beautiful face permanently destroyed as it was carved in half. With a strained groan, Lyndon finally managed to finish carving through the top of Shenarah’s skull. The two halves of the elf’s butchered carcass pulled away from one another, dangling side by side in front of the well.

Nimor admired the apprentice butcher’s work with a satisfied nod. “I think I understand the process now,” he said. “Thank you. But just to be sure…”

Dropping his dagger low, Nimor pulled Lyndon close, driving the blade up between his legs. The young men released a high-pitched shriek, eyes bulging as the assassin slashed open his testicles with one stroke and sliced off the majority of his cock with the next. “Sorry, kid, but not amount of scrubbing would’ve gotten the stink of that elf’s cunt off your unit.” He pulled the dagger back and jabbed it forward again, this time into Lyndon’s gut. He carved a jagged line up to his sternum, letting his innards spill out of him before he shoved his dying form away. Lyndon stumbled, clutching at his intestines and mangled crotch before he knocked into the side of the well. With another scream, he fell into the pit, his agonized howl ending in a splashing thud.

Even as Lyndon’s scream came to an end, the screams of the townsfolk were rushing to join him. Nimor turned to watch as his assassins carved through the humans. It had been fun playing with the peasants, forcing them to give up the refugee they’d been harboring, but they’d never had a hope of getting to live beyond the encounter. He barked orders at the men who weren’t busy killing – or entertaining themselves with the human women – to start gathering firewood. The humans were all dead within the hour, their village in flames shortly afterwards. The only thing left untouched by the fire would be Shenarah’s butchered corpse, making the message the drow sent loud and clear. Dozens of similar scenes would play out over the next few months, finally spreading the message far enough to make it clear that anyone found harboring an elf would doom their entire town. And suddenly, hunting down the lingering stragglers of elf kind became that much easier for Nimor and his group of assassins.

* * *

It wasn’t long before some of the humans decided simply turning elf refugees away from their towns and cities wasn’t enough. Hunting parties were formed, made up of men who felt it was the best way to keep the drow menace from delivering death upon themselves and men who needed little reason to embrace their most wicked tendencies, especially when their victims were looked upon as pariahs to any society they came across. Nimor looked upon the human hunters favorably. On the one hand, their efforts cut down on his opportunities to have fun with the dwindling elf populace but considering the end result sped along the elven extinction his people had set in motion, it was all for the best.

Nimor saw the parties infrequently along his travels, usually when they had trophies to show off to him. He barely acknowledged the majority of them, simply confirming their kills and sending them on their way. But one of the human hunters had risen above the rest, enough so that Nimor had bothered to learn his name.

Caldwell.

Over the years, Caldwell had brought him the most presents. Some of them he’d even kept alive, after he’d learned how much Nimor liked engaging in the torture and execution personally. As he tracked his latest prey – likely the last wild elves he’d ever have the chance to hunt – Nimor thought back to his initial introduction to Caldwell, as well as the tale the man had shared with him about the five dead elves he’d shown up with.

* * *

Gweyir Chaemaris had gone to great lengths to keep her charge of elven women safe. She’d found a barn – looked to have been abandoned for many years – and had been using it as a safehouse for several weeks, sneaking out in the night to forage for food and supplies and bring them back to her fellow elves. They avoided people at any cost, staying tucked away in their secret hovel, clinging together for warmth, and hoping that they could find some means of escaping the living nightmare their existence had become.

Caldwell and his men caught a glimpse of Gweyir sneaking through the dense forest under cover of darkness. They kept themselves hidden, tracking her back to the barn, marveling at how efficiently the elf kept herself concealed even as their minds filled with all of the terrible things they intended to do to the woman once they caught up with her. Watching her slip into the barn, Caldwell held his men back, directing them to surround the dilapidated building, not wanting to give Gweyir any chance to slip away. When they were ready, Caldwell shouted the order and the men swarmed into either end of the barn, amazed to find the treasure trove of prey waiting for them within. Five frightened, dirty elf women cowered before them, scampering about in a desperate search for a way out of the barn that wasn’t blocked off. Caldwell and his men corralled them together and subdued them, ripping away the filthy rags they used for clothing.

Gweyir did her best to defend her fellow women, staring defiantly at Caldwell. “We’re not bothering anyone,” she barked. “We don’t want anything from you. The drow don’t have to know we’re here. For all that’s decent, just leave us and forget you ever saw us. I beg you.”

Caldwell eyed the elf, chuckling. She had a strained courage about her. It wasn’t much, but it was certainly more than any of the other elves had. They were all too busy sobbing and whining to even try to stand up for themselves or each other. Caldwell had little interest in turning the elves over to the drow alive. After hearing word that the dark-skinned elves were paying out bounties for elves – dead or alive – he’d said his goodbyes to his wife and son, gathered up a few like-minded men from his town, and had set out, less in search of earning a little coin or preventing other human towns from being leveled for daring to shelter any of the refugees, but because it had been far too long since he’d gotten to truly allow the dark beast within him to stretch its claws and rip something apart. It was all the more appealing that the something about to be ripped apart in this case was a worn but still quite fetching elf.

Gweyir was the strongest of the group. Clearly the leader that had kept them all safe for so long. She would make the perfect first victim. He yanked the woman to her feet, dragged her away from her cowering companions. “How about we make a deal then?” he growled, drawing his hunting knife. He guided the blade against the underside of her left breasts, letting her feel the sharpness of it against her soft flesh. “I’m gonna cut your tits off,” he told her, making it clear there was no way for her to avoid the fate. “If you can eat them all up, I’ll let one of these other bitches go. Then I’ll cut something else off of you. The more you can stuff down your gullet, the more of them you’ll save. That sounds fair, right?”

Caldwell didn’t give the elf any chance to respond. The moment he finished laying out the offer, he started carving. Gweyir shrieked, tried to pull away from him, but he was quick to hook an arm around her back and hold her in place as he sliced his way upwards through her left breast. The plentiful mound came free, sliding down her chest before plopping to the dirty ground at her feet. Blood gushed from the open wound, leaking down her belly and beading up in her wiry pubic hair. Caldwell shifted the position of his knife and went to work on her right tit, cutting it off with just as efficiently. He released his hold on Gweyir, shoving her onto her knees before kicking one of her severed breasts closer to her. “Eat up.”

Gweyir stared wide-eyed at her breasts lying before her, a stinging burn radiating through her chest paired with the very odd sensation of no longer feeling the weight of her tits. Her vision was blurred from tears, heart pounding in her chest as she panicked. Managing to get control of the pain and sorrow of her mutilation, the elf grabbed a fistful of soft skin and chunky fat and stuffed it into her mouth. She chewed, gagging on the taste of her own raw meat, and managed to swallow down the first chunk even as she lifted another handful of bloody meat to her lips. In her panicked haste to gulp down her own severed tits, Gweyir’s throat became clogged with sticky clumps of fat. She strained, trying to swallow but found the task horrifyingly impossible. Letting the twin handfuls of breast meat slide through her fingers, she clutched at her throat, gagging and wheezing as she stared up at Caldwell with pleading horror.

Caldwell simply watched and laughed as the elf choked on her own tits. She fell onto her side and rolled onto her back, kicking at the dirt floor with the heels of her feet as she dug her fingers into her mouth to try to scoop out the obstruction clogging her windpipe. Her face grew red, glistening with thick sweat. When the scraps of skin and clumps of fat proved too slippery to get a good hold on, she went back to clutching at her throat, pressing against it, trying to work the lump down her gullet. As her bloodshot eyes bulged obscenely from their sockets, that effort was cut short. She flopped about on the ground before Caldwell, one hand slapping against the pile of sloppy, partially eaten tit-flesh beside her while the other dragged deep gouges into her neck. “Guess you didn’t manage to get any of them free. Pity,” he mocked. Her struggles grew unsteady, her gurgling wheezes weakening as the asphyxiation entered its final stages. Her breastless chest lifted and sank as her spine arched, jerking wildly for another minute before the tension in her muscles drifted away, leaving her as a wide-eyed corpse.

Much as he suspected, witnessing their leader’s gruesome demise broke the remaining elf women. They clung to each other, sobbing and screaming. Caldwell looked them over before picking out another to continue his games with.

One of Caldwell’s men – Ashbrook – pulled Sariandi Valfiel to her feet and pulled her in front of his boss. He kept his hands tight around her arms to keep her from collapsing as she screamed and spewed pleading gibberish at the man. She managed to hold herself as still as she could, trembling badly, as Caldwell directed the tip of his bloody knife to her chest. He dragged the weapon over the modest mounds Sariandi possessed. “Well, those don’t look like they’d make a very filling meal,” he remarked, flicking the knife away from her chest, intentionally nicking one of her nipples in the process. “Guess I’ll have to carve something else out of you. Same deal as before. If you can eat it all up, I’ll let one of your friends go.”

Caldwell didn’t make Sariandi wait long to learn what piece of herself she’d have to consume. He dropped to one knee in front of the cowering young woman and guided his knife between her trembling thighs. Stabbing through the outer edge of her labial folds, the man was rewarded with an ears-splitting scream and a gush of blood and piss from her wounded snatch. He ignored the mess, his hands already well-covered in elf blood, and carefully carved Sariandi’s cunt out of her body. As he returned to his feet, he nodded to Ashbrook to release the girl, letting her collapse to her knees and clutch at the gory pit where her womanhood had been mere moments ago. She stared at the gruesome remains of her sex in Caldwell’s hand. “Go ahead, bitch. You wouldn’t want it get cold, would you?”

A spark of frenzied madness flashed in Sariandi’s eyes as she pulled her bloody hands up from her destroyed crotch and snatched her cunt from Caldwell. She stuffed it into her mouth, chewing at the tough tissue. For a few moments, the hunter thought she would go the same way as Gweyir as she did her best to hastily swallow the raw flesh down. But where Gweyir’s throat had betrayed her, Sariandi’s came through. Swallowing hard, she drew the lump of her pussy meat down into her stomach, gasping and sobbing as she stared hopefully up at Caldwell. The man frowned, both impressed and irritated that the unfair truth of his game would be revealed so soon. Then Sariandi’s body aided him in prolonging his deceit as she doubled over and puked up the gory feast she’d consumed. He shook his head, grinning. “Sorry, but if you can’t do one, simple thing for me, why should I risk my neck for you?”

Sariandi made a grab for her regurgitated cunt, now soaked with bile, but Ashbrook pulled her back up onto her knees. He grabbed hold of the elf’s chin and gave her head a hard twist, snapping her neck. As a few spirited death twitches rolled through Sariandi, he shoved her to the ground, face splatting against her gooey, carved out snatch.

Aelrie Binelis was the next elf to be pulled before Caldwell. “You know the deal by now,” was all he offered her before he went to work carving off her breasts. The woman screamed and twisted violently within Ashbrook’s grip. When her chest had been cleared of the plaint mounds of flesh she’d always loved squeezing and flashing at young men she fancied, she stared at the bloody remains being presented to her and scrunched up her face, twisting her head away and keeping her lips sealed firmly. “Not hungry, huh?” Caldwell growled. “We’ll see about that.” He jammed the blade of his knife into the side of her neck, carving along it. Blood gushed from her severed neck, pouring over the ragged scraps of meat still clinging to her chest. Ashbrook tugged Aelrie’s head back, exposing the blood-spurting hole of the elf’s severed esophagus. Caldwell chuckled as he stuffed chunks of skin and fat down the hole, force feeding Aelrie until she finally expired.

Caldwell knew as soon as Ochilysse Luneiros was brought before him that she would fail his game. The elf had stopped screaming, stopped pleading, stopped even crying. She could only stared with wide, uncomprehending eyes at the three butchered elf carcass around her, traumatized brain locked down completely. Caldwell didn’t bother asking her if she understood the game, he just got to work. He got her screaming again when he cut off her tits, but it wasn’t enough to snap her out of her daze. She only stared blankly at the handfuls of breast meat presented to her. With a sigh, Caldwell tossed the wounds aside and cut out her cunt. More screams and a flicker of horrified revelation shot through Ochilysse’s face, but it was gone by the time he tore her sex out of her and offered it to her. Annoyed, Caldwell jammed his knife into one blank eye, and then the next, popping the ocular orbs and scooping out their deflated remains.

Pulling his erection free, Caldwell cradled the back of Ochilysse’s head and stuffed his member through one of her bloody sockets. He rammed his way into her head with hard strokes, wincing as he bashed through the thin layer of bone at the back and sank into the soft wrinkles of her brain. The damage to her frontal lobe finally inspired some degree of entertainment value out of the traumatized elf. Her arms flopped and jerked at her sides, reaching out to clutch at Caldwell’s thighs momentarily before her twitching fingers slipped away. Heavy gushes of drool sputtered from her smacking lips. She was still alive when he finally came into her skull, squirting his spunk along the bored out hole he’d made in her brain. Withdrawing his messy prick, he passed her along to Ashrbook, who was quick to plug her unfucked socket and create a new hole in her mind. Ochilysse’s convulsions grew more spastic as Ashbrook thrust into her head, dying down to intermittent twitches when he pulled free to spray his spunk across her slack, drooling face. Then he passed the nearly brain-dead elf along to the next man, Durisey. By the time Durisey was finished with her, she was clearly nothing more than a corpse, but that didn’t stop the rest of Caldwell’s men from taking a turn with her cum-leaking eye sockets.

Only Phaerille Adthyra remained. Her mind had also snapped while she’d watched her fellow elves being butchered, but in a far more entertaining way. She screamed and sobbed as Caldwell cut off her breasts, but when presented with them, she eagerly eat them, as if all the bloodshed she’d witnessed had left her ravenous. She didn’t seem particularly bothered by the fact that there was no way for Caldwell to make good on his offer to set one of them free, seeing as she was the only victim left alive. When she finished swallowing down the last of her tits, Caldwell decided to see just how far the broken elf would go. He cut out her pussy and her screams were no less intense, but he barely had the chance to offer it to her before she snatched it out of his hands and started chewing off large chunks of her sex. By the time she finished her second meal, she was pale and trembling from shock and blood loss, but still eagerly perched on her knees, waiting for her next command.

Caldwell offered Phaerille his cock and the elf had enough of her senses left to know that it wasn’t the sort of meal she was meant to chew. She sucked him with stunning enthusiasm and skill, draining his seed from his balls before turning to the next man waiting to violate her mouth. Caldwell watched her go, sucking off one man after the next, even going so far as to jam her fingers into the bloody hole where her pussy had been. When she finished providing her oral pleasures, she was pushed onto her hands and knees, where she happily reached back to pry her buttocks apart. The men – working themselves back to stiffened states – proceeded to take turns buggering the pale, mind-shattered elf, leaving her bowels clogged with their cum.

Amazed at the level of depravity Phaerille had so willingly embraced, and the fact that despite her gruesome wounds, she was still clinging to consciousness, Caldwell decided to see just how far she would go. He handed her his knife. “You still look a little hungry, my dear,” he told her with a grin. “Why don’t you see how much of yourself you can eat?”

Phaerille let out a tired, psychotic giggle and turned the knife towards herself, grunting as she plunged the blood through her belly. She carved open a wide gash and let the weapon slip away from her shaking fingers so she could dig her hands into the tangles of guts pushed free from her. She yanked them up to her mouth, chewing away pieces of intestine. Caldwell and his men watched in stunned awe as Phaerille disemboweled herself, squirting the creamy loads they’d fucked up her ass over her bloodless face and ripping open her own stomach so she could once again taste the remains of her breasts and cunt, now thoroughly soaked in stomach juices and cum. Her self-feasting slowed as the damage she’d sustained finally caught up to her. Her eyes rolled back as she dropped onto her back, dead before she hit the ground.

* * *

“And then we had a bit of fun with the leftovers,” Caldwell explained to Nimor as he showed off the cart full of butchered, thoroughly fucked elves he’d come baring.

Nimor nodded his approval and passed Caldwell a sack heavy with gold coins. He would have made a good drow… too bad he had been born merely a human. One step better than a slave… but a useful one. “Very good work. Keep it up. I’ll be very interested in hearing from you again, my ‘friend.’”

And the assassin had. It hadn’t taken long for Caldwell to become an even better elf hunter than many of his own assassins. The man had a flare for the sadistic that Nimor very much appreciated. The other men in his party came and went, but Caldwell had taken to the cause of exterminating as many elves as possible with the same zeal Nimor had. Caldwell delivered many elves to Nimor, many already dead, but when he learned off Nimor’s interests in taking a more hands-on approach to the killings, the human hunter had began to bring him elf women still breathing. More than a little raped and abused along the way, but still with more than enough life left in them for them both to enjoy themselves.

As he drew ever closer to his prey, Nimor recalled on particularly amusing prize Caldwell had brought him.

* * *

Caldwell caught up to Nimor with two companions in tow. The first was another human – Bevau. Nimor had only ever seen the man that once. The second was a scrawny young elf with a burlap sack pulled over her head. Caldwell grinned wildly at Nimor. “Oh, you’re going to love this, boss,” he said, forcing the elf onto her knees before the drow assassin. He yanked the sack off the elf’s head and Nimor took in what lay beneath. His eyes narrowed, head tilting with bafflement for a few moments, before finally erupting into heavy laughter.

Vasati Wasris glared up at Nimor, apparently more irritated at being laughed at than she was scared of what was going to happen to her. Her dirty blonde hair was cropped short and left in disheveled spikes from wearing the sack. Her dark eyes were filled with an indignant fury that had become quite uncommon in elves of late. That alone would have been enough to amuse Nimor, but it was the sloppy self-mutilation she’d performed that made the sight of her truly hilarious. In a foolish effort to blend in as a human, Vasati had taken a knife to her pointed ears, doing her best to round them out, but the lumpy scar tissue made it obvious that she was no human.

“It’s certainly the most creative act of cowardice I’ve seen yet,” Nimor admitted.

“I’m not a coward,” Vasati spat back at him, firming her jaw. “I’m a human. My mother neglected me when I was a baby. Rats got into my crib and chewed up my ears. I’m not an elf. I’ve never even seen an elf. And you’ll all be in big trouble once word spreads that you’ve started kidnapping human women to satisfy your sick bloodlust.”

Vasati’s bold claims only drew heavier laughter from Nimor and Caldwell. Bevau merely snickered, clearly nothing more than a hired hand. It was no wonder that Nimor hadn’t seen him afterwards.

Getting his laughter under control, Nimor pulled a handheld crossbow into his hand. “Thank you, Caldwell,” he said. “You don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve had a good laugh.” He lifted the crossbow, leaving the tip of the arrow loaded into the weapon less than an inch from Vasati’s forehead. “As for you, elf,” he growled. “It’s not a bad story, but you know what would have worked even better? Growing your hair out a bit to cover that butchery you did to your ears. Now…” He pointed a finger to the tip of the arrow. “Watch closely. I wouldn’t want you to miss this.”

Vasati said nothing. She looked past the crossbow, continuing to glare at Nimor. He waited patiently, until her eyes finally flicked to the arrow. He saw a flash of horror fill her face, struggling against her firm-jawed defiance. The flash was all he needed. He squeezed the trigger on the crossbow. With a sharp twang, the arrow launched the short distance to Vasati’s face, punching through her forehead. Her kneeling body snapped back, eyes wide with shock as she landed hard on her shoulders, aiming her crotch towards Nimor as she drained urine into her ragged pants.

Leaning over Vasati’s corpse, Nimor grabbed hold of the arrow’s shaft, pulling her back towards him. Blood flowed over her face. The childish fury she’d displayed had become a slack daze. Using the arrow as a guiding rod, he drew the dead elf’s soft lips to his erection, working her head back and forth along his member. Caldwell didn’t hesitate to move in and pull the young elf’s legs out from under her, tugging away her pants so he could climb onto her and wedge his prick up her rear. Bevau simply watched, making a point to fiddle with his semi-erect dick to try and show the other men that he shared their perverse desires. Not that Nimor or Caldwell paid any attention to him, too busy enjoying the pleasures of a fresh kill and continuing to laugh about the dumb elf’s attempt to blend in. Nimor fingered Vasati’s deformed ears as he pumped his cock deeper down her throat, forcing her to take his cum while Caldwell pulled out of her gaping asshole and painted her perky ass cheeks with his creamy spunk.

* * *

The small house lay before Nimor. If the rumors were true, the last elves on the surface world waited within. After a century, the hunt was finally coming to an end. The last he’d heard from the underdark, there weren’t many captive elves left, either. Not pure bloods anyway. The original breeders had long ago been cycled out and butchered, replaced by their half-breed daughters. The ones in the brothels hadn’t lasted much longer, used as freely and as roughly as possible. Even the more treasured privately owned elves had mostly outlived their value. The ones who hadn’t been snuffed out by their masters inevitably wound up in the brothels where they were quickly used up and disposed of. Supposedly, even Princess Elasha’s time was nearing its end. Nimor wasn’t surprised. He’d seen first hand the growing depths of her owner’s depravity towards her. The last time he’d laid eyes on the royal daughter, she’d been missing her arms and legs, forced to remain perched on a thick post jammed up her snatch when she wasn’t being passed around as a party favor for guests to enjoy.

Nimor recalled being balls deep in the princess’s ass that night, listening to Jegdrym describe in great detail the recipe he had in mind for Elasha. If he’d not already missed the grand feast the princess had been doomed to become, he suspected the invitations to the event had already been sent out. It was a shame. The recipe had sounded delicious. But he still had a task to complete. And he always felt more alive out in the world, hunting prey, than he did rubbing shoulders with elite snobs. In the last fifty years or so, he had had plenty of opportunity to learn that his hatred of the drow Matriarchs hadn’t been entirely because of how they had kept him and the rest of the males as all but slaves… because he hated most of the new drow rulers with only slightly less simmering passion. 

Everyone but Irae…

Part szarkai woman partly amused him… so similar and yet so different from the rest of her sex. The other part of her terrified him. Nimor knew that he was cruel, but his cruelty had built over centuries of being beaten, deprived, hated, all while knowing that there was no chance of him every achieving any status in drow society. Irae’s cruelty seemed to come from a quiet, simmering madness that seemed impossible to satisfy, impossible to quench. Already she was talking about launching another campaign of extermination. In his heart, Nimor knew she might never be satisfied while another being lived, breathing air that was meant for her lungs.

He put the thoughts from his mind. The house was tucked away, nearly enveloped by the surrounding forest. If he’d not heard the rumors of its existence, he’d never have found it. It was clearly a place of hidden sanctuary. It reminded him of a similar domicile he’d come across several years earlier. Its discovery had been as much of a surprise to him as his unexpected presence had been to its solitary occupant.

* * *

It had been the scent of cooking stew that had lured Nimor to the home. The place looked to have been there for a long time, nestled only a few hundred yards from a dense mushroom patch. He’d approached the house with only relative caution, mouth watering at the smell of the stew. He’d been trekking through the wilderness for weeks at that point and while his food supplies were not depleted, the thought of a warm meal was a temptation he could not pass up. He froze, surprise spreading across his face, as the house’s occupant stepped out and laid eyes on him. She was an elf. Her presence was less of a surprise. Those elves that still lived on the surface had spread as thin as they could, driving ever deeper into uncharted territory to keep themselves safe. The surprise came in the total lack of fear or malice the matronly woman offered him. On the contrary, she gave Nimor a friendly smile.

“Hello, dark one,” she called. “I’ve not seen one of your kind in so very long. What brings you to the surface?”

Nimor’s mind worked fast. She was a sage of some sort, driven to becoming a hermit for some mystical reason or another. He suspected a trap only briefly before casting the notion aside. Even at a distance, he’d never had any trouble detecting falsehood in others. This woman was genuine. Her home was isolated enough that if she’d lived her for long, it was entirely possible news of her races ongoing extermination hadn’t reached her. Nimor quickly came up with an answer to her question. “Cast out,” he told her. “My own people no longer wish to have anything to do with me. And I’ve seen only further discrimination since I’ve left.”

“Well, fear not,” the sage told him. “I’m the only one out here and I’ve not been a part of elven society for more than two hundred years. I swear not to judge you if you come in peace.”

“Peace is all I have to offer,” Nimor declared, keeping the amusement he felt buried deep. It seemed this woman wasn’t nearly as skilled at detecting falsehood in others as he was. “Is that stew I smell?”

The woman nodded. “It is.” She extended a hand towards her open door. “I’d be delighted to share my supper with you. My name is Tanila Daeyra.”

Nimor approached the house, doing his best to look more like a castaway than an assassin. His mind stuttered at an introduction. The elf was clearly out of the loop, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t heard of him. He took a moment, embracing the appearance of awkward fumbling before responding to Tanila. “I shed my drow name when they drove me out of their lands,” he explained. “I go by the name Caldwell now.”

“Well met, Caldwell,” Tanila said, clearly amused by her own choice of words as she stepped aside to allow the drow into her home. “Your timing is impeccable. The stew is nearly finished. Come along and I’ll let you have a taste.”

Nimor followed Tanila into the small kitchen area, eyes scanning the interior, confirming that the woman lived alone. The place was littered with a wide assortment of herbs and tonics, stacks of ancient leather tomes with strange glyphs etched onto them. The elf lived in total isolation, no doubt whittling away her time crafting potions and communing with nature. The loose fitting slip she wore was practically transparent and she displayed no discomfort with him having a clear view of practically every inch of her most intimate regions through the fabric. He imagined her prancing about out in the woods, nude flesh glowing in the moonlight. Perhaps it was the sincerity of her spirit that allowed him to imagine the image without any form of torture or bloodshed. His mind was littered with dozens of methods to snuff the life out of the sage’s body, dozens more of all of the terrible carnal things he would gladly do with her before, during, and after her death. But for some reason, he found it difficult to shift his thoughts away from that image of her dancing, happy and oh so very naked, in the darkness. Nimor shifted the pace of his steps to conceal the sudden throbbing hardness in his pants and brutally chastised his own dull mind for even fantasizing for an instant about a potential life of solitude and joy with the wretched woman. She must have laced the air in here with some kind of aggression suppressing pollen or something, he decided, not daring to consider the fleeting fantasy could have been a genuine feeling.

“Here,” Tanila said, dipping a long wooden spoon into the bubbling pot and scooping out a portion of the stew. She pursed her lips and blew across the hot substance before directing it towards Nimor, one hand cradled beneath it to catch any drips. The drow found it all too easy to play along, amazed by the sense of calm the sage inspired in him. He leaned in and took a gentle slurp of the stew. The taste was exquisite with an earthy flavor, primarily mushroom based. It was exactly the sort of hot meal he’d been yearning for. Still, he managed to push the warm, fuzzy haze from his mind to remind himself what she was, and what he intended to do to her.

He nodded thoughtfully. “It’s very good, but I think it’s missing something.”

Tanila took a sample for herself, swished it around in her mouth before swallowing. “You’re right. A little more basil, I’d wager.” She gave her killer a smile. “You have quite the stunning palate.”

Nimor returned the smile. It came easy enough. “I don’t like to brag.”

As the sage turned to add some further spices to the stew and stirred the concoction, Nimor took the time to clear his head of the pure thoughts tugging at him. It helped to focus on Tanila’s flesh, so clearly displayed through the pale crimson shawl. It helped more to focus on how hilarious it was that she was so oblivious to his threat. Preparing to strike, Nimor couldn’t resist toying with her a little longer. “You know, I never expected an elf to show a drow such kindness.”

“I live by my own rules out here,” she explained, taking another taste test and then reaching for another jar of spice. “Personally, I see no reason to hold onto grudges spawned by the actions of ancestors long dead.”

“Still,” he pressed, cock straining against the crotch of his pants in anticipation of the evil deed he intended on committing in mere moments. It was all the more thrilling to him because she was such an obliviously innocent creature. “Even after what happened at Soleila.”

The mention of her race’s capital city did manage to draw some concern from her. “What happened at Soleila?”

“We swept through it like a plague, killing or fucking every elf we came across,” he told her, watching the panic rising through her as she realized her house guest had lied about his peaceful intentions. “You should’ve seen what we did to the queen. That bitch died about as hard as a bitch could die.” He chuckled, sliding in close behind Tanila, holding her firmly in his arms even though it was clear she was too consumed with sudden terror to try to flee. And even with her doom freely slipping a hand under her shawl to squeeze one of her breasts, it was not in her nature to fight. “That stew of yours really is delicious, by the way,” he told her, grinding the bulge of his cock against her rear. “But it really is still missing something.”

“What’s that?” she gasped, turning her head to stare up into his cruel face, tears glimmering in her eyes.

“A flavor only the chef herself can provide,” he replied.

She sniffled miserably. “Please,” she muttered, but there was no force behind the words. The offer was as plain as her offer to feed him. No pretense, no bargaining, just a pure request for mercy.

Nimor bent Tanila violently over her stove and shoved her face into the pot of bubbling stew. She found the will to fight against him then, but it was nothing more than a natural reaction to the pain. The bubbling along the surface of the stew intensified as she screamed into the thick slop. He kept her face pushed into the pot for a few moments longer before yanking her head back. Tanila gasped and wailed, her flawless skin ravaged with blisters where it wasn’t peeling away, chunks of diced mushrooms and carrots stuck to her. He gave her only a moment of reprieve before dunking her head again. He kept her pinned there a while longer before drawing her back up. Her matronly beauty had become a half-melted horror, eyes burned a pale white as she groaned pathetically, barely clinging to consciousness. Nimor leaned in to lick the layer of stew from her cheek, grinning wickedly at her. “Mmm,” he purred. “Just right.”

Tanila’s face splashed into the stew a third and final time. He kept her submerged, holding onto her and riding out her violent death spasms with her. When her lungs were full of stew and her twitching had subsided, Nimor pulled her head back again. He dragged her dead weight away from the little stove and dropped her across the nearby table, sending the bowl she’d set out skidding onto the floor and smashing to pieces. He tore the shawl from her body in a wild frenzy, tugging his pants open to release the tension there. Grabbing hold of Tanila’s meaty thigh, he hefted her leg up beside him and drove into her yielding cunt. He averted her eyes from the gruesome sight of her face and instead leaned in to wrap his lips around one of her nipples, plunging into her with the passion he’d caught only a hint of in the fleeting fantasy that had invaded his brain.

Nimor didn’t last long. He came hard into Tanila’s corpse, keeping his cock stuffed fully into her until the last of his seed had drained from his balls. Panting heavily, he let her leg drop and slid out of her. He took a few moments to catch his breath and bask in the exhilaration of his own evil. Then he left Tanila’s body where it lay and returned to the kitchen, finding another bowl to serve himself a portion of the sage’s delicious stew.

* * *

Of the many lives he’d taken over his long life, Nimor still thought of the gullible sage often. He’d committed more than his fair share of atrocities, but he’d never had a victim pave the way to her own demise so openly. Not without a fair amount of manipulation on his part ahead of time. He’d killed plenty of elves since then in a wide range of creative and devious ways. Some of them had been far more attractive than the sage. But her death was the one that his mind continued to wander back to. Standing before the door of the little hidden house, knowing what waited for him inside, Nimor was reasonably certain he would finally have the opportunity to overshadow Tanila’s murder with something even more wicked. He found himself hoping that Princess Elasha’s owner had already cooked and served her. Because, if he had, then Nimor was about to be responsible for finally eradicating all pure blooded elf life on the planet.

Taking a moment to focus himself and prepare for what was about to happen, Nimor lifted a leg and slammed his boot into the door, knocking it open with a heavy bang. He surged into the dwelling, eyes immediately fixing on the startled occupants. His lips curled upwards, teeth gleaming in the candlelight and cock shooting to rock hard attention. “Hello again, your highness.”

Princess Elincia sprang to her feet, pushing the younger elf woman behind her. She snatched up a nearby sword and took a desperate stab at the assassin. Nimor dodged the blade and flicked his own sword out to knock Elincia’s weapon away. “I expected you to have learned how to defend yourself a little better than that in all this time.”

Fear and fury played across Elincia’s face. She pushed at the younger elf. “Go, Lira,” she gasped. “Run. Don’t look back.”

Lira took a half step away from her mother, conflict stalling her movements as she looked from Elincia to Nimor and back again.

Nimor turned his attention to the princess’s daughter. “If you run,” he warned. “You’ll do so hearing the shrieks of your mother as I tear her apart. You might get enough of a head start to escape me for the next week, maybe two. But every time you close your eyes, you’ll hear your mother’s screams and you’ll have to wonder, right up until the moment I find you again and take my sweet time violating every inch of you, if there maybe was another way this could have gone. If perhaps you could have done something to prevent it all. Think about that.”

“Don’t listen to him, Lira,” Elincia snapped. “He’ll kill us both. Just, please, run!”

Lira was too torn to make a move, deciding to keep her feet planted as tears rolled down her cheeks. Elincia made a dash across the room, going for another sword leaning against the far wall. Nimor beat her to it, kicking the blade away and slashing out at her, opening a deep gouge across the back of her hand. He lifted his sword and put the tip against the princess’s chin, forcing her to remain still. He glanced to Lira and saw the girl was still frozen in place. “Sit,” he commanded, aiming a finger at a nearby chair. The girl scurried over and sat, staring at him desperately.

“Please, just don’t hurt my mother,” she whimpered.

Nimor ignored her for the moment, glaring at Elincia. “And you, wayward princess, better behave unless you want to see just how many pieces I can cut your child into.” Keeping the sword at her chin, he directed her into another chair. “Now that we’re finished with the theatrics, perhaps we can have a civilized conversation?”

“What do you know about being civilized, monster?” Elincia growled back at him.

“Monster?” Nimor repeated, frowning. “Yes, I suppose I have been that, haven’t I? Do you know how many elves I’ve killed? How many I’ve raped?” He let out a humorless laugh. “Because I don’t. I lost track of it years ago.” He dragged over a third chair for himself and sat down, keeping his sword at the ready in case either of the elves tried anything. “And if I’m being perfectly honest… I’m sick of it.” He shook his head. “Can you believe it? Here I am, right at the end of it, and I honestly can’t even stomach the thought of killing you. It’s all become just so… repetitive.”

Elincia sneered unsympathetically at him. “I’m so sorry killing us has made you weary.”

“I don’t blame you for holding a grudge about it,” Nimor said. “It’s perfectly understandable. But don’t you see? It’s over. You’re the last two left. There’s no more elven men left in the world. We’ve already succeeded in eradicating your kind. I could just leave you here to live out your lives and it would be the same as if I killed you now. The only real difference is that I’d get to have a bit of fun with you before you died. And I’m sitting here telling you I’ve had enough of it. Are you so ensnared by your hatred of me to see the opportunity that presents us?”

Nimor saw the flicker of hope spark in Elincia’s eyes. Oh, you stupid cunt, he thought. “What… what do you propose? It’s not as if we can pay you to spare us.”

“But you see, that’s where you’re wrong,” Nimor told her. “You may not have riches, but you do possess something that I’ve never had the fortune of experiencing.”

The foulness crept back into Elincia’s face. “I don’t think I can give you a conscience.”

Nimor laughed. “No. But you could prove to me that, were I to let you live, you’d keep doing what you’ve been doing. Living out here, all alone, not bothering anyone, not planning some futile revenge scheme. You need to prove to me that you can let your hatred for me – for my kind – go. I return to the underdark and tell them I’ve killed you. You get to live out whatever years you have left and at least give the elven race a dignified ending. Does that sound like something you’d be interested in?”

“Just tell me what you want,” the princess groaned.

“Nothing much,” he shrugged. “All I ask is that you crawl to me. And suck my cock.”

“I thought you said you’d lost your taste for raping and killing our kind?”

“I have. I have no intention of forcing you to do this. I want you to willingly do this for me. If you can supplicate yourself before me and perform this one little act, I’ll know you can contain your hatred for the drow. And then I can leave you here, satisfied that – one way or another – my job is done.”

Elincia sat in silence, glaring over at Nimor. But he could tell she was considering his offer. He held back the grin, the laughter, the delight that this most wicked of tricks looked to actually be working. It was Lira who finally broke the tension.

“Mother, please,” she begged. “If you won’t do it, let me.”

“No,” Elincia snapped, shifting her glare to her daughter, her mind made up. She looked back to Nimor and nodded. “I’ll do it.”

Nimor let a version of the grin hiding within him spill free. He leaned back in his seat and loosened his pants, withdrawing his erection for her to see. “Then crawl over here and let’s make a deal.”

Elincia slid off the seat and onto the floor, humiliation washing over her as she crawled to Nimor. She didn’t trust him, didn’t believe he would hold up his side of the bargain, but she had to try. It had been so long since the fall of Soleila. And there was some truth to what he’d said, at least in regards to it not mattering when or how they died. She could only desperately hoped that he was being genuine. Not for her own sake, but for Lira. She hated that her daughter would have to watch her doing something so vile, but she knew Nimor wouldn’t allow her to send the girl even into another room. The short distance to where the man sat seemed to take forever and yet not nearly long enough. Her stomach fluttered with unease as she fixed her eyes on the firm, obsidian flesh of his dick. She stared at it, trying to imagine all of the women he’d forced it into over the years. All of the elves who had died for its pleasure. To take such a man into her mouth willingly filled her with a burning hatred, but for her daughter, she managed to swallow the hate down. Lifting herself up onto her knees, she leaned over Nimor’s crotch and parted her lips over the throbbing head of his erection.

She tasted his sweat as she moved her lips down his length, tongue dragging along the underside of his shaft. Her jaw strained as she took him deeper, struggling against her gag reflex as his cockhead pushed down the back of her throat. Her instinct was to bite down, chew off the assassin’s dick even if it meant a painful death for herself and her daughter. At least then she could die knowing that he would never be able to use his cock on another elf ever again. But she couldn’t even see the point in that, anymore. The only two elves left were in the room. And she owed it to Lira to at least try and win their lives. But just because she wasn’t biting down didn’t mean she had any intention of making the blowjob anything special. She kept her tongue in check and bobbed her head into his lap with a steady, listless rhythm.

Nimor let the princess go on with her lackluster blowjob, enjoying the sight of her lips willingly wrapped around his shaft as well as Lira’s embarrassed staring. When it became clear that Elincia needed some further encouragement, he gave a tug on her hair and frowned down at her upturned face. “If this is the best you can do, I’m afraid you’re not going to convince me,” he told her. Chuckling as her eyes filled with anger, he released his hold and enjoyed the more vigorous bobbing of her head, the tightening of her lips around his shaft as she began to properly suck him off. “That’s a good girl.”

Nimor let the disgraced princess continue to humiliate herself for a little while longer before he could no longer resist the temptation to spring his trap on the woman. His hands dropped over the back of Elincia’s head and pushed down hard, shoving her face into his crotch and burying the full length of his shaft down her throat. She gagged hard around him, hot drool gushing from her stretched lips. Her hands shot up, pawing and punching at Nimor’s chest as he held her in place, clearly panicking as she struggled to breathe around his girth. Lira jumped up from her seat, tears already gushing down her cheeks.

“You promised!” she whined.

Nimor chuckled cruelly and maintained his hold on Elincia’s head. “I did. And if she can survive long enough for me to finish, I’ll keep my word. But unless you want me to rescind my offer now, you’ll sit back down.” Lira stared urgently at her mother, but obeyed. Nimor smirked. “Very good. And why don’t you take off your top, as well? The sight of your pretty young breasts will no doubt help me achieve my release much quicker.” Sniffling, Lira obeyed, even as Elincia waved her arms back at her daughter, desperately signaling her to ignore the assassin’s command, doing whatever she could to urge her daughter to flee. Her fears had been well-founded, and she was certain, whether he came in ten minutes or ten seconds, he would not let either of them live.

Lira didn’t have much hope for a happy ending, but she was eager to do anything she could to save her mother. She removed her top, as instructed, and even reached up to cup her modest breasts, jiggling them in her hands for the assassin’s amusement. He nodded his approval, but did not relax his hold on Elincia’s head. Lira’s sobs grew in strength as she listened to her mother’s gagging intensify. “Please, don’t kill her,” she blubbered. “She’s all I have.”

Not for long, Nimor thought, openly staring at Lira’s naked flesh. She’d grown into a beautiful young woman. He could see the familial resemblance to Elincia, but there were other things about her that stood out. Her skin wasn’t quite as pale, a certain jagged harshness in her nose, a kind of arch to her eyebrows. Her hair, platinum blonde, was just a little too pale. He pondered on the likenesses she’d no doubt inherited from her father. It was tough to properly gauge an elf’s age just by looking at them, but he was reasonably certain he knew exactly how old she was. It was enough to get him to pull Elincia’s head off of his drool-soaked cock so he could look into her eyes.

“She doesn’t know does she?” he whispered to her, low enough that Lira – too busy sobbing – didn’t even catch the words.

The spark of fresh horror in the princess’s eyes was the only answer he needed. “P-please,” she groaned. “Don’t tell – “

Nimor shoved Elincia’s face back down, sheathing down her throat once more. Being the bearer of a vicious secret tickled him, almost as much as the urgent clenching of the princess’s throat around his dick. She’d not had long to regain her breath and already it was growing stale in her starved lungs. “I don’t think she can last much longer,” he called to Lira. “You’d better finish taking off your clothes and start playing with yourself. I’ve never been able to last long when I’m staring into the dripping wet sex of a beautiful woman.”

With her mother’s struggles becoming sloppy and disjointed, Lira hastily cast off the remainder of her clothing. She spread her legs wide, bending her knees so she could rest the soles of her feet against the edge of the chair. She moved her hand down to her sex, curling through the silky pubic hair that was really more white than blonde. She shoved her fingers into her folds, masturbating awkwardly to the site of her mother choking to death on a drow cock. Nimor nodded his approval and even allowed his breath to quicken, as if he was drawing close to release. But the truth was, after a century of practice at precisely this type of task, the assassin had a masterful control over his own body. He would cum when he wanted to and not a moment sooner. He watched the unwanted pleasure working its way through Lira’s miserable face as he felt Elincia’s struggles fading.

Lira’s fingers slid free from her wet sex when she saw her mother’s arms drop to her sides and the tension drained from her muscles. “Please! Let her up! She’s dying!”

Nimor ignored the girl, enjoying the soft pulse of Elincia’s clenching throat around him as her bloodshot eyes grew vacant, staring at his belly. “Don’t be a fool,” he grunted, finally unleashing the heavy spurts of his jizz down the princess’s gullet. The climax was massive and exquisite, made all the more intense because it marked the passing of the last true elf in the world. He jerked his hips up, fucking the last of his cum into Elincia before he finally pried her locked throat off of his spent member. He twisted her head around for Lira to see her mother’s slack, jizz-drooling face. “She’s not dying. She’s dead.”

Nimor shoved Elincia’s corpse to the floor, rising to his feet as Lira unleashed a distraught wail, surging off of her chair and rushing to her mother’s side. She shook Elincia, begging her to come back, as the assassin paced around her, admiring her grief from every angle he could. When he’d admired her long enough that his cock had regained its stiffness, he pulled the grieving young woman away. “Can’t you see your mother’s dead tired?” he growled, tugging the girl deeper into the house. “You should really let her rest. But don’t worry, while she’s getting her beauty sleep, you can keep me company.” He found what he assumed as Lira’s bedroom and pulled her inside, throwing her onto the bed.

Lira had no fight in her. She lay on the bed, clutching at her pillows and sobbing into them as Nimor casually stripped off his clothing. He slid into the bed and pinned the girl down, letting her go on crying as he moved a hand down between her thighs to pick up where she’d left off. “Tell me,” he purred, nibbling on the sharp tip of one of her ears. “Did your mother ever tell you anything about your father?”

Lira was too consumed with her misery to answer. Nimor’s face hardened. He snared the girl’s clitoris between his fingers and gave it a hard pinch, enough to draw a scream from her and cut through her haze of grief and terror. “He did before I was born,” she yelped. “He died fighting your kind at Soleila.”

Nimor chuckled and slid his fingers back into her hot hole, amazed at how tight she was. “Is that what she told you?” He curled his fingers inside her, seeing the pleasure he was forcing into her panted on her face. “Well, your father may have died in Soleila. There were losses. But, I can assure you, he did not die fighting the drow.”

“He was a proud warrior!” she screamed.

Nimor smiled. “I don’t disagree. But he wasn’t defending that doomed town. He was plundering it. Do you know just how many drow cocks were inside your mother that day? How many of them left their seed buried deep inside her? Any one of them could be your father.” He let out a laugh. “Hell, I might be your father. I’m not surprised she lied about it. And I suspect the only other elf you’ve ever seen in your life was your mother. Not enough to really notice all the ways you looked different than she did. The truth is, the last surface elf died with her lips wrapped around my cock. You’re nothing more than her half-breed slut.”

Lira was a sobbing mess, screaming out blind denials at him. Not that he cared. He knew the truth. Elincia had even confirmed it for him, even if she’d not wanted to. Still, even if the girl was nothing special in regards to the purity of her heritage, she was still very special in being the last living elf on the surface. And that demanded Nimor’s fullest attention. Because once she was gone, he would never have another chance to hunt an elf down. Besides, he needed someone to celebrate the extrinction of the elven race with.

Moving over her, Nimor forced Lira’s thighs open. He angled his cock down to her slick pussy, pressing firmly into her. He took her slowly at first, knowing he was her first with as much certainty as he knew she was half-drow. He maintained the slow penetration even as he pierced her hymen, sinking fully into her and leaving his erection buried inside her, giving her time to really bask in the feeling. Then he drew back and gave her a proper thrust, hard and painful. He ravaged her with a kind of animalistic passion he’d not felt since he’d snuffed the sage, decades ago. He reached around to grip her ass, burying his face against her chest to suck and chew on her thick nipples. He held nothing back, making her first fuck as memorable as he could, despite the fact that she would not have much longer to remember it.

Nimor’s lust for Lira only grew stronger. The fact that she marked the end of his long quest, that her death would mean his victory, that he’d managed to trick Elincia into delivering herself to him, even the possibility that it could have possibly been the cum he’d fucked into Elincia so many years ago that had taken hold and grown in her womb becoming the half-breed he was pounding into now. All of it swirled within him, fueling his desire and his sadistic glee. He finally pulled free from Lira’s throbbing sex, rolling the sobbing young woman over so he could start to work his way up her even tighter back door. Her sphincter was clenched tight, resiting him even in her all-consuming despair. But Lira was far from the first reluctant anal lover he’d taken. And while she had youth and misery to strengthen her efforts, Nimor had the vigor of a drow largely responsible for the genocide of an entire race behind him. He pressed against her asshole with firm force, showing the young woman no mercy as he slowly broke the tight ring of muscle around his girth.

Yanking back on Lira’s hair, Nimor leaned around her to bite at her neck as he humped roughly up her ass. The gripping tightness of her rear coaxed him towards another climax. He drove into her as long as he could before he struggled to maintain control over his release. Drawing free from her gaping asshole, he rolled Lira back over. He scrambled up the bed, dropping onto her chest and pulling her head towards his cock. She tried to twist her face away from him, but he was quick to grab her by the jaw, forcing her mouth open and stuffing his filthy dick through her lips. The panicked flopping of her tongue against the bottom of his cockhead was the last stimulation he needed. He came hard into her mouth, watching her cheeks balloon outward as revulsion filled her face. Creamy spunk squirted from her stretched loops, leaking down her chin and streaking back down the length of his pulsing member.

After two satisfying orgasms, Nimor needed some time to recover his stamina. Not that he had any intention of relenting in his torment of Lira. He slid down her body, pulling her legs open and dropping his mouth over her sex. His tongue dove through her folds, exploring every inch of her cunt and wiggling against the small bud of her clit. Lira’s sobbing intensified as she writhed beneath him, her young flesh too inexperienced with pleasure to know how to control or resist it. He made her cum with ease and continued to tease her with his mouth, lapping up her sweet juices and coaxing more from her. The girl became a shuddering, sniffling mess by the time he’d had his fill of her honey. His dick was hard again and eager to re-explore her various orifices, starting with her mouth. Unsurprisingly, Nimor found that her meager oral talents were spawned only from her resistance to him. But even that was enough to satisfy him.

Treating Lira like the one-of-a-kind commodity she’d become, Nimor spent the better part of a day using her again and again. He resisted the urge to start using his dagger on her. Her flesh was too precious to carelessly carve up. More than that, the assassin had every intention of playing one last trick on the girl before she inevitably died. But only after he’d finally had his fill of her, and only after she’d been sufficiently softened into an easily manipulated plaything. The sun was just starting to rise the following morning when Nimor decided the half-breed’s time had come.

Leaving Lira in a half-conscious heap on her badly stained sheets, the assassin moved back into the living area. Elincia’s corpse still lay slumped in the middle of the room, a few flies buzzing and crawling across her cold flesh. He left the dead princess alone, finding himself a length of rope and working it into a noose. Mounting the noose from the ceiling, he dragged one of the chairs under it. Returning to the bedroom, he slapped Lira awake and pulled her to her feet. “I’m afraid I have to be leaving soon,” he told her as he tugged her out of the bedroom. “But before I go, I wanted to give you an opportunity.” He directed her attention to Elincia’s corpse. “Maybe you can succeed where she failed.”

Fresh tears stung Lira’s eyes as she looked at her mother’s lifeless husk. Fearful tremors worked their way through her muscles as Nimor forced her up onto the chair. He pulled the noose over her head and tightened it around her throat. “I’m going to pull this chair out from under you in a minute,” he explained. “Since I don’t have much time, you’ll have to work fast to figure out a way to get me off. If you do, I’ll show you mercy. That sounds like a fun game, right?”

Nimor yanked the chair away, letting Lira drop a short distance before the rope drew tight. Her mouth shot open, eyes bulging, as the noose bit into her throat. There was the immediate panic, of course, and Nimor was careful to stay out of the way of her wild kicking, waiting for her to settle down a little before dropping into the chair and scooting under her. Her dangling feet dragged across his rising erection, showing her the method she would need to employ if she wanted to try to survive. Even after seeing how he’d fooled Elincia, Lira took the opportunity. She cradled his cock with the soles of her feet, curling her toes against him as her legs worked up and down. Occasionally, spikes of pain and panic would stir into spastic jerking that only further stimulated the assassin. He leaned back and watched the young woman’s buttocks clench and release, the sweat pouring out of her, the jiggling of her tits. He listened to her urgent wheezing and wet gurgling as her face shifted from a bright shade of red towards a darker purple.

Lira’s bloated tongue hung obscenely from her mouth, leaking saliva over her jerking breasts. Her feet kept on working him over as best she could. Nimor didn’t bother controlling his lust. He ground upwards, helping the girl to please him. With a satisfied groan, he came over her twitching feet. As his cock drifted towards softness, he slouched in the seat and enjoyed the afterglow of his release and the oncoming end of the final surface elf. She was drifting ever closer to oblivion, but still fighting against it. Her body rotated at the end of the noose, allowing her to fix her bulging eyes on him, begging him to make good on his end of the deal.

“Alright,” he relented, rising from the chair. “You completed your task. I’ll show you some mercy.”

Grabbing a broom from a nearby corner, he stepped up behind Lira, guiding the blunt end of the handle between her rippling ass cheeks. The shaft of the broomstick was thinner than his cock, making it easy for him to wedge the end of it up her rear. “This should finish you off a little faster,” he told her as he pushed the broomstick further into her ass. He tightened his grip on the broom and rammed it upwards hard. Lira managed a half-choked scream, face constricting with fresh agony. Blood leaked from her stretched asshole down the remaining length of the broom. Gritting his teeth, Nimor kept shoving the stick deeper through her body, not stopping until he saw the bloody end of it pushing free from the half-elf’s sputtering lips. Lira twisted and jerked at the end of the rope for a few moments longer before finally succumbing to the combination of asphyxiation and impalement.

Nimor frowned. “I wonder if she thought I actually meant I’d let her live,” he remarked to no one in particular before letting out a laugh and strolling back into the bedroom to get dressed.

On his way out, Nimor kicked Elincia onto her back and carved through her throat. Irae would no doubt wish to perform her necromancy on the long lost princess… one last trophy for the szarkai. He left Lira dangling on the rope. Simply being the last elf to die didn’t make her particularly special. In the grand scheme of things, she was nothing more than a half-breed slut. There were still plenty more just like her back in Menzoberranzan. The bitch could rot alongside her headless mother.

Stepping out of the little house, Nimor started his long journey back to the underdark, basking in the glory of the terrible quest he’d completed and the regret that the experience was – at long last – over. The elves were gone. Before long, even their surviving offspring in the underdark would eventually either be dead or their bloodlines so diluted that they’d be more drow than elf. This last kill marked an ending… but probably also a new beginning… the assassin had little doubt that unleash Menzoberranzan upon someone else soon, paving her way eternally towards total supremacy.

Nimor wasn’t sure if he should be excited or terrified… but he expected he’d find out soon. After all, there were still plenty of other races in the world with fuckable flesh.


	13. Epilogue – The Reward

This is an especially brutal story, filled with torture, rape, and snuff. Be sure this is a thing you want to read before continuing. 

Everything was wrong.

Irae knew this to be a fact, but she could not for the life of her, say why. Her memories were a conflicted blur, made all the worse because of how the conflicted bits occasionally melded together. She lay across Lashrae Kiltyl’s massage table, although the pervasive calm she’d felt when she’d laid there so long ago was gone. The masseuse loomed over her, his stiff member jabbing into her slippery sex. His hands were around her throat, thumbs pressing firmly into her windpipe. The urgent wheezing pouring out of her didn’t sound like her, but she couldn’t be certain if it was the tone of the voice or simply the desperation of a dying animal she didn’t recognize. As her bloated tongue pushed free from her discolored lips, Lashrae leaned in to suck on it, slurping up the warm drool covering the swollen length of muscle.

The fog in her eyes and in her mind was easily attributed to the man’s iron-like grip around her throat, but Irae couldn’t help feeling that it was something more than that. Still, it was difficult to focus on the pervasive surrealism of what she felt when the immediate and very real horror of the acts being committed to her were so insistent. She glared up at Lashrae with hatred and the promise of punishment for his betrayal, uncertain if her asphyxiated face was properly conveying the sentiment. The muscles felt resistant to her intent, more focused on expressing the horror and confused panic radiating through her. Her body shuddered, hips jerking up to meet the masseuse’s powerful strokes. The shape and size of his member was familiar to her. She’d engaged in celebratory acts of carnal passion with him a handful of times over the many years since their initial fateful meeting. But her cunt felt strange around him, as if it had never felt him before. She attributed it to the nature of their current union and her very clear resistance to him.

And through it all, as her urgent wheeze became a fatal death rattle and she could feel Lashrae’s prick swelling within her shuddering pussy walls, only a single thought continued to pound in Irae’s oxygen-starved mind.

Everything was wrong.

The sight of him faded before he could fill her dying snatch with his seed, drifting away along with the tickling sensation that she’d heard this story before from the man himself. Had he not revealed his first act of aggression at the start of the drow rebellion? How he’d satisfied himself with the first early morning client he’d had that day? How she’d writhed beneath him, a stunning look of surprise on her face as he’d plundered into her previously forbidden sex while throttling the life out of her? Irae could almost remember that he had told her that story.

But it was impossible. Lashrae could never have told her such a tale. Because she was the woman he’d killed on that eventful day. In fact, she’d had the distinction of being the first woman to die in Menzoberranzan.

Except she hadn’t been. She’d been the woman who planned the revolt. Who’d helped set it into motion. The experience could be nothing more than a dream. A bizarre mental fantasy to pass the time now that her wicked deeds had come to a conclusion and there were fewer and fewer playthings to abuse. Cursing her mind for conjuring up such an absurd and humiliating nocturnal playground for herself, Irae drifted deeper.

Roused from her slumber, Irae felt a soothing comfort from the familiar smells of the temple, paired with the confusion of feeling an unknown figure pressing her against the small bed she’d slept in since she’d taken on the life of a priestess. She wondered which of her handful of lovers might be so bold as to slip into the temple under the cover of darkness to pay her a carnal visit in the middle of the night. Fighting against the pull of fatigue, Irae’s eyes drifted open, suddenly trying to remember when exactly she’d become a priestess and why. The authenticity of the fractured memories could not be denied, but – like the bizarre dream she’d escaped in death – it did not connect with the other things she knew were true. It was hard to see the figure looming over her as his skilled hands stripped away the thin robe she wore, exploring the pale flesh beneath.

His naked stiffness dragged against her slim belly before settling against the lips of her dry cunt. Seeing she was awake, the man clamped a hand over her mouth before he thrust into her, muffling her surprised cry. The lover felt familiar, the flickers of his likeness known to her even as her body reacted violently to his attentions. Hands that were not Lashrae’s but still just as strong – perhaps even stronger – closed around her throat, and suddenly it was happening all over again. Her location had changed, her attacker had changed, even her body had changed, but the horror and confusion of the situation remained the same. She knew there were others, fellow priestesses, sleeping only a few feet away from her, but she could not reach them and with the man’s fingers crushing her esophagus, she could not call out to them.

The whole dreadful experience played out before her like some kind of twisted play and Irae had the beast seat in the house. As her bulging eyes stared up at the man humping into her, clawing at him, she finally recognized him as Nimor, her trusted ally in the revolt against her own people and the subsequent invasion of the surface world and the eradication of the elf species. Her lips smacked wetly, gurgling barely more than a whisper as she tried to alert him to the mistake he was making. Somehow, he’d gotten it all wrong. Some devious enemy assassin had managed to take her, slip her into the bed his victim should have been in. Her head pounded, suffering through another asphyxiated demise while simultaneously being removed from it. It could only be another dream. Another nightmare. Sexually violent dreams were not uncommon to her. She’d had them as long as she’d had fur on her sex. But she’d never dreamt herself up as a victim, always the aggressor, or perhaps a voyeuristic observer enjoying the acts of others.

Again, a single thought burned in her aching mind.

This was wrong.

And then, another brief dip into inky blackness.

The smell of the temple remained as she was drawn back to consciousness. No figure toward over her, hands clasped around her throat. Instead, she was treated to an outsider’s perspective of what she’d just experienced. Peering through the gloom in the room, she watched the figures on the bed opposite from hers tussle in a passionate, fitful embrace. The thought that it was simply one of her fellow priestess’s lovers coming for a secret rendezvous fluttered through her fogged mind, although she knew that was not the case. Fighting through the confusion and trying to sort out which memories and thoughts were hers and which were not proved too taxing for Irae. Her body felt arousal, and satisfied that her mind’s fantasies were finally playing by her rules, she embraced it, working a hand down to rub against the sticky lips of a cunt that was not her own. As she wiggled the tip of her middle finger against the little bud of her clit, a nauseating rush of forethought struck her. Her masturbatory efforts intensified as she tried to block out what she somehow knew was coming.

Upon watching what she could no longer deny was herself dying within Nimor’s grip, Irae struggled to call out to him, to question him for answers she desperately needed, even as she subtly rolled away from him and let her eyes slip closed to maintain the façade of slumber. Her pulse quickened as Nimor slipped into the bed behind her, nuzzling up close to her. She knew his intent even as a part of her urged him to take her, to satisfy the burning left in her loins. When he passed through her soaked lips, the tightness of her own sex surprised her, as did the tearing pain of her maidenhood being stolen. She’d lost that part of herself so long ago that she could hardly remember the face of the man who’d taken it.

But that was absurd. She’d not seen the face of the man plunging into her for the first time. He was simply one of Pyria’s entranced men, likely encouraged to come over and take her by the woman herself now lying dead in her tangled, piss-stained sheets. She ground back into Nimor, wanting to enjoy his thick meat inside of her as long as she could before the horror started. Her attempts to question him came out as muted sighs and moans of passion, not wanting to alert the other priestesses sleeping – no, they’re already dead – in the beds surrounding her. And when his hand finally closed around her throat, her mind and body finally found a means of unifying, fighting against him. But the body’s efforts were that of a pathetic, terrified young woman. She cursed the body she being forced to dwell in as it gurgled and jerked back into Nimor’s thrusts, fucking him against her will until the heat of his seed squirting into her chased her back into the dark.

The blinding light of the beautiful day did nothing to diminish the sensation of dread and failure permeating every inch of Irae’s body as she stepped from her castle at her husband’s side. But that wasn’t right, either. Because she remember this, albeit from another perspective. This was not a moment of defeat, but of ultimate triumph. As she took her place on the stage and looked out at the mass of the drow army waiting for her, her pride was marred with disgust at the sight of them and the knowledge of that they’d done to her people. Her family. She turned, the nausea growing as she watched herself – and didn’t I look so stunning in that black leather? – strutting out onto the stage. She was everything she’d ever imagined herself being. Confident, beautiful, and wicked.

But the eyes she watched herself with were not her own. She vividly remembered standing where she saw herself standing, speaking the words she was now hearing, the electric excitement of what was to come, of the hell she had planned for the elven queen. She recalled trying to imagine the full extent of the agony that was about to befall the woman, eager to see how she would react to the suffering, and even more eager to finally see the life expelled from her worthless husk. There she was, only a few feet away, the perfect image of power and control, but so utterly disconnected from it. Instead, she was left helpless, horrified of what was about to play out with no means of changing it.

Irae could no longer delude herself into believing she was caught in the midst of some bizarre fever dream. The imagery was too vivid, the invasion of other thoughts, other memories, too personal. The other scenarios could have been flights of mental fantasy inspired by pent up stress or some deeply buried fears, based on half-remembered stories she’d heard from her conspirators. But this memory was her own, and yet not her own. It was twisted into itself, transformed from a moment of pride into an experience of nightmarish penance. Only one thing could explain this perpetual journey through suffering and death. Somehow, she had lost her own life. And her beloved goddess was now punishing her. It made little sense after all she’d done in Kiaransalee’s name. She’d been the goddess’s most loyal patron and had delivered to her more than any follower ever could have. Irae had not feared her eventual death, knowing that the parting of her mortal life would simply release her into the boundless accolades and rewards Kiaransalee no doubt had in store for her.

This ongoing montage of experiencing the acts she’d set into motion and directly ordered was no reward. She felt the bitterness in Queen Gaelira’s heart as her prolonged execution began, and cursed her current vessel for daring to compete with her own, much more deserved bitterness. She screamed as the drow mage unleashed devastated jolts of electricity into her body, taking little solace in the fact that all the pain she’d imagined the queen had suffered had not come close to what the woman had truly endured. Irae was too consumed with how unfair it all was, screaming internally that she did not deserve this after all she’d done, until the agony grew too great for her to endure. Then she screamed because it was all she could do, bound helplessly, eagerly urging her current vessel to just die already to give her even a few brief moments of reprieve from the suffering.

Crackles of electricity rushed through her, forcing her muscles to convulse. The pain was sharp, but the further emphasis over her utter lack of control hurt more. It wasn’t right. After all she’d done for Kiaransalee, to be not only cast aside in such a way, but actively tortured made no sense. It was a betrayal too large to ever forgive. Irae wished to see her goddess as she shuddered within Gaelira’s body, watching her husband – not my husband – being sucked off to further add sting to her torment, so that she could spit in the deity’s face.

Although the smoking husk of Gaelira had certainly appeared dead before the woman’s skinning had started, Irae knew now that she’d not been. Shocked and tortured into unconsciousness and drifting at the edge of death, certainly, but she’d lasted much longer than she’d ever known. While the queen had remained blissfully unaware of the defilement and removal of her flesh, Irae was given no such benefit. She felt every cut of the knife, every tug on the bloody skin as it peeled away from glistening muscle tissue. She only felt the tug down into the permanent blackness after the majority of the task had been completed, driven half-mad from the sensations of it all and howling into the void for an explanation.

The void considered Irae’s pleas, and then fed her back into the maelstrom of suffering.

Certain of the source of her new existence did nothing to prepare Irae for the imaginative cruelty her goddess possessed. The world appeared before her, massive and oppressive against the miniscule body she’d been crammed into. The drow soldier who’d snared her – this is not me – was a giant before her. The pixie – Esta is her name, not my name – trembled with terror, having seen what the soldiers had done to the dryads in the sacred forest. She was a tiny, nude thing, less than six inches from the tip of her toes to the top of her head. Her skin was the color of leaves, to help her hide among the branches in the face of threats. She’d been sent tumbling from her hiding place with the felling of the tree she’d called home and was now in the constricting grip of the soldier.

Gaelira’s execution had forced Irae to experience helplessness and lack of control. This punishment mirrored it, but with a new element. She was tiny. Puny. Inconsequential. The drow soldier holding her had been less than nothing in her lifetime. She did not recognize him. She certainly had never learned his name. He’d simply been another eager male ready to go out and spread the death and destruction she’d ordered in the name of Kiaransalee. She wanted to believe the man’s cock was in truth of a laughably small size, but as he lined up its throbbing length with her tiny form, she was forced to accept that the only small thing in this current life was herself.

The pulse of the man’s erection shook her tiny body, the heat of it washing over her and drawing a thick sheen of sweat from her pores. Worst was the knowledge of what was to come. He was showing her how big his member was compared to her, but also how stiffly eager he was to destroy her with it. He finally lifted her and sat her crotch against the head of his cock. Irae knew that nothing more than the pixie’s own fingers had ever explored her sex. Not that it mattered. The penetration would not be extreme. It would be impossible. To try and violate any of the little thing’s individual orifices would have been task even more impressive than eradicating every elf in the world – you’re welcome, by the way. But the man was not interested in fucking any one orifice Esta possessed. He’d settle for turning her into a single, gory fuck tunnel.

The skin of the pixie’s crotch did not stretch, it immediately tore. Bones snapped and organs pulped. Her little belly ballooned outwards as she gagged on the torrent of gore clogging her throat. The cock – like Irae’s suffering – was unrelenting. And the pixie’s life – much to her dismay – was stronger than her miniscule figure should have possessed. Her skin was stretched taut around the girth of the man, tiny arms and legs dangling loosely away from the mangled length of flesh. Only the top of her skull survived the man’s exit from her body, jaw ripped away and throat expanded to easily four times its normal size. She was dragged back and forth along the erection, a tight sheath of warm, bloody pleasure for the soldier.

The pulse of his arousal became Irae’s whole existence. That and the pain. His loose grip left her, blood-tinted eyes shifting as he turned and stalked towards a half-dead dryad. The green-skinned beauty had endured quite a bit of torment already. Now she would be used – without anyone but Irae’s knowledge – to disgrace the albino drow further. As the soldier moved the bloody skin-condom wrapped around his cock towards the dryad’s already heavily violated asshole, a bouquet of scents assaulted Irae. She doubted the pixie she inhabited had smelt them. What little remained of her nose was split open and clogged with blood. The stench was allowed to reach her due only to the will of an untrustworthy and foul goddess. She smelled the dryad’s fear-soaked sweat, the burn of the expulsions of the many men who’d used her before, even the linger aromas of her natural bodily processes still clinging to her. The stench worsened as the soldier drove his way into the dryad’s rear, crushing what remained of Esta’s body between the solid hardness of his member and the broken walls of the dryad’s asshole. Fucked ever deeper into the smothering, humid darkness, the tortured pixie finally succumbed to death and sent Irae tumbling away, cast off just as carelessly as the soldier had cast off the ruined flesh condom he’d made.

* * *

Irae screamed as the meat hook punched through her skin and slid under her shoulder blade. The orc brute known only as the Butcher hefted her flailing figure into the air, leaving her dangling for the drow army – my army – surging into Soleila in his wake. The Butcher had been a capable weapon – one of many she’d recruited and forged in her service to Kiaransalee – now turned against her. It was made all the worse because these were nothing more than flickers of history repeating. The drow soldiers who had their fun with her dangling body saw her as just another worthless elf bitch, helpless to deny them their lusts. Irae would not have enjoyed being hooked and hung and raped again and again under any circumstances, but she would have at least respected her attackers more if they knew who they were truly torturing. These men were nothing but cowards in her mind, spoiling a body without paying any care to who might be trapped inside it. If they knew, they would not dare touch her. And she desperately wanted to lash out at them, to strike down her own forces by the score to show them how foolish they were for taking such foul action against her.

The snapping of her shoulder blade as a particularly exuberant drow ripped her down from her perch shocked Irae back to her senses. Or at least, so much of her senses could be restored after the torment she’d endured so far. This was a memory. Someone else’s experienced ripped from their dead skull and crammed into her. These drow soldiers were doing their duty, and doing it well. It was easy to hate them because their actions were having a direct effect on her, but the hatred was misplaced. This moment should have been one among thousands that should have lifted her into the loving embrace of her goddess. She cares not for service in her name, Irae could only think. Her promise of rewards in the afterlife are nothing but lies, meant to stir her followers into zeal. What a fool I was.

With a massive chunk torn from the elf soldier’s back, she didn’t last long on the ground. Long enough to deliver Irae into another disgraceful end, stomped to death by the boots of her army.

* * *

A heaviness filled Irae’s gut, something more physical than the dread and constant nausea that had become constant companions to her. A primal terror came with it, a matronly terror. Dull pain stabbed its way up her rear and with it the next macabre vignette exploded into focus around her. The vessel’s hands clung to her swollen belly, cradling the unborn life gestating within, shrieking out pleas to spare her for the sake of the child. Irae called the pregnant elf a fool. Her army would show her no mercy. Reproducing had never been in Irae’s plans. She’d had no love for children and no desire to undergo the torment of childbirth. But the woman she’d been forced into had plenty of both emotions to spare. The fear for something other than herself assaulted her as the drow kept her pinned over the barrel, hammering into her ass.

A wild flash of protectiveness consumed her. She needed to save the child. It was hers. It deserved to live. Her own life could be forfeited with ease if only she had the knowledge that her progeny would live on. The sensations revolted her, clashing with her selfish nature. She wished the dumb elf bitch would stretch her neck and look around a little more. She was certain she’d seen her pregnant self getting buggered during her ride through Soleila. If she could only see herself – even for an instant – she could remember her true nature. Anything to be rid of the motherly terror she felt for the unborn worm stretching her gut.

But the bitch did not turn her head. And despite all of Irae’s struggles, she could not command her to. Instead, she was forced to bask in the torment – both physical and mental – until the soldiers finally rolled her onto her back. The elf’s pleading intensified as blades were aimed at her belly and Irae – consumed with motherly instinct – silently begged alongside her. When the soldiers struck, they made sure to sink their swords into the pregnant elf only so far, dicing up the child inside her. It felt like a piece of herself, her entire future, was being murdered. Satisfied, the soldiers gave her a few kicks before moving on, leaving her to pour blood from her gouged up belly. Irae was left to grieve with the horrified mother, screaming for her to die faster so that she could escape the sorrow pushing in around her from all sides. But it was a slow, lingering demise, sparked by the occasional brute who wandered by and decided to fuck the sobbing woman, or piss in her mouth.

Irae felt a wave of relief when she finally expired, only to have it snatched away by the certainty that whatever came next would not be any more pleasant.

The unjustly punished drow at least found some balm for the emotional assault of being forced into the mind of a mother by the selfish nature of the elf she became next. The girl’s aspirations were laughably small, unsurprising given the unremarkable little town she lived in, but she could at least warm herself in the bitch’s narcissistic nature for a few scant moments before the sneak attack force she’d sent out to lure out the elven army struck. And then, it was back into hell. A fresh new hell that had already come to pass, forced not just to observe but to experience every moment in graphic detail. She swore Kiaransalee was enhancing her ability to feel, to sense, making every violation, every injury a thousand times more painful.

The elf had been quite the popular little whore in her town and she soon became a popular little whore for the drow soldiers. She’d been raped over a dozen times – in each of her most alluring holes – by the time they dragged the noose over her head and cinched it tight. Up she went and once again Irae was suffering through the slow pain of strangulation. But her drow suitors were far from finished with her. Her kicking legs are still so sexy and her holes still possessed a pleasant tightness – even tighter with the noose digging into her throat. They moved in close to her, one by one, and took their turns. The girl – fool that she was – took each of them with panicked joy, wrapping her legs around them and bouncing atop their erections to buy herself a few more minutes of life. Trapped in the depths of her psyche, Irae knew that the idiot actually thought she could win her life if she performed well enough under the constant threat of death.

Stop this, Irae demanded, both of the girl and her goddess. Stop this and just die. Just let yourself die.

But the girl did not. And swinging from the noose at the center of the town, she had a clear enough view of the atrocities taking place around her. She watched her neighbors – her handful of lovers – slaughtered. She watched the other women in the town enduring similar torments, some dying, others being enslaved. The girl’s jealousy spiked each time she witnessed one of her kind being put in chains. How desperately she yearned for a long life of servitude and abuse, proving what a selfish, narrow-minded idiot she was. She spotted another elf girl amongst the others and focused on her. Irae recognized the new girl as well.

Merethyl, the one who got away. Her and the vessel – Shandalar – had been bitter rivals before their world had come crashing down around them. That rivalry persisted even in the midst of the worst experience of her young life, it seemed. Her hips jerked against whatever cock happened to be in her at the moment, fucking with ravenous passion, clinging tightly to the back of the man plunging into her. She wanted to live. If not to be put in chains, than at least to witness her rival’s demise. Although Irae would never have allowed herself to be put in chains – except, I have, haven’t I? – she found a spark of admiration for Shandalar in her efforts to at least see Merethyl die first. But Irae had lived well beyond this point in history. She knew how things would end. Which made it all the more infuriating having to deal with the girl’s futile efforts to resist the bite of the noose, hoping to witness something that she would never get the chance to.

Shandalar’s users became more infrequent, the stretches of time she was left to dangle growing longer and longer. She was a used up slab of fuck-meat, her holes too loose and too greased to offer much pleasure. Not nearly enough pleasure compared to the thrill the men got from watching her twist and turn on the rope. The bitch put up a good fight, right until the end, much to Irae’s dismay. And when the darkness finally came, Shandalar died knowing that she’d gone before her rival. To the self-centered young woman, that was the worst slight, proving to Irae just what a petty, puny fool she was.

Not that Irae was finding herself particularly fond of the aspirations that had dictated so much of her own life in that moment.

Likely sensing how desperate her victim was for a reprieve, the wicked goddess delivered Irae into the elven priestess Gwynnestri. The blind adoration of any goddess burned Irae’s tortured psyche, but it was made all the more bitter because it was an elven goddess. One I snared and sacrificed in your name, she screamed out at Kiaransalee. The moment of worship she’d been dumped into was thankfully short-lived, interrupted by Nimor and his band of assassins. Memory gave her a hazy vision into her immediate future. She’d certainly reveled over the details of the wicked game he’d played with the priestesses. She would do no reveling while being forced to live through it, of that she was certain.

The contest began and Irae’s fury and torment grew. Another moment of great triumph ruined forever due to the personal perspective she was being given. When Gwynnestri’s mind shattered, she felt her own worn out mind bend under the strain of shared consciousness. Clearing the shameful goals presented to her with the enthusiasm of a lunatic, she fought against the growing masochist fire that fueled the priestess. Her jealousy for the less capable elves grew as they were killed – brutally but at least freed from the endless stream of suffering. Why this one? It was a question that was bouncing around Irae’s head more and more. The answer was as clear as it was distasteful, but it didn’t stop her from asking it.

The extent of Gwynnestri’s madness crushed Irae. It overwhelmed and smothered her, forcing her to enjoy the cruel acts she endured. She fought against it with everything she had, but the disgraced priestess proved to be an unbeatable foe, made all the more so because her role in the scene was fixed, while Irae’s was decidedly more malleable. With her current vessel’s tenacious grip on life and zeal for her new station, Irae had nothing but time to suffer through all of Gwynnestri’s gleeful debasement. The priestess became a prison within a prison for Irae, trapped within the depraved shell for decades as she discovered just how foul a being could be to appease her masters. The surreal nature of Irae’s existence became a haze to her as she was dragged along through Gwynnestri’s years of slavery.

Days stretched on and on, filled with violent sexual acts. Gwynnestri was incapable of being raped, no matter how depraved her users were. She welcomed each new torture and freely showed how much she enjoyed her suffering, unless ordered not to. And trapped within the former priestess, Irae was forced to perform perfectly in step with her. Under other circumstances, she would have singled Gwynnestri out as a prime example of just how pathetic the elven race truly was. But being forced to live the priestess’s foul life had Irae shrieking at the woman’s pre-written consciousness, demanding her to find some self-respect. The only ounce of it she could find came from the level of disgusting, harmful acts she performed. Gwynnestri took pride in breaking her asshole open around the thick head of a drow’s club, leaking her hot blood down the solid wood. She took pride in being so thoroughly fucked that her belly distended from the jizz-baby sloshing around inside it. She took pride in every half-breed child she squeezed down her birth canal, delivering it into either a quick, brutal death or a prolonged life of slavery just like her own.

Every lash of the whip, every bruising punch or bone snapping kick, every crude insult lobbed at her. It all worked to strengthen Gwynnestri’s desperate desire to be the greatest of all the whores. It sickened Irae. Not what the drow were doing to her, but the priestess’s reaction to it. She kept waiting for it to become boring. Many of the acts Gwynnestri suffered were repetitive, but she approached each abuse with the same degree of enthusiasm and excitement, which – in turn – made each abuse fresh and just as painful as the last for Irae, no matter how many times she’d gone through it. It wore away at her, until she became desperate for even a small piece of the madness that had claimed the priestess so quickly. To lose her mind, to give in completely to the torture, to no longer remember how unfair it all was and that she didn’t deserve what was being done to her, and would go on being done to her, would have been a gift too precious to cast away. Yet anytime her mind grew too fatigued to endure anymore, a fresh rush of awareness and renewed vigor surged into her, denying her the ability to slip into psychosis or blissful disassociation. If anything, the longer she spent inside Gwynnestri, the more in tune she felt with the woman.

Because it was her enduring the torture, committing the acts. And she hated it. So why did she pretend to love it so much? And why did it feel so much like she wasn’t pretending? Irae became the spark of rational thought buried deep in the back of Gwynnestri’s head, screaming at her to do something – anything – to kill herself. There were so many opportunities wasted or ignored. Even when accidental death seemed likely, she was allowed to mend, to heal, just so she could be thrown back into the flesh grinder.

Then the time came – Gwynnestri’s final orgy of suffering – and once more Irae was forced to witness one of her greatest accomplishments – perhaps the greatest accomplishment – twisted in on itself and somehow used against her. Watching Corona’s torturous execution from within Gwynnestri – with Kiaransalee in attendance – felt more like an accusation than a moment of triumph to her now. She could see another her, a her so far above the lowly whore she’d been made into, standing proud beside her goddess. She was being mocked, offended. She wanted to make Gwynnestri’s body crawl its way over to the other her, to warn her of what was coming. But even after being trapped inside her for so long, Irae had no control over the vessel, she could only dwell within, suffering, until the whore’s exuberance finally led her to breathing the chunky wads of jizz of her final living lover.

The full weight of two decades worth of suffering crashed down over Irae as she sank back into the darkness. Free from the masochistic desire to feel the pain, an aftershock of what had been done to Gwynnestri ran through her, drawing her into endless screams of agony and self-pity. Knowing that more pain, more defilement was soon to come only made her scream harder. She had no physical throat to endure the strain of her unrestrained howls, but it didn’t stop it from aching. The darkness seemed to linger, as if Kiaransalee wanted her to baste in the agony for a little while. The pain ebbed and flowed, but mostly flowed. It still felt like she was being fucked. Fucked hard by something massive. Then she realized the screaming pounding into her own ears had an echo matching it, slightly out of rhythm.

She’d slipped seamlessly into yet another tortured life without even realizing it. The darkness wasn’t quite as dark as the void that she kept slipping into, but it was close. The stench wafting up around her made her want to puke, a sentiment her vessel seemed to share as a hot watery spray erupted from her lips. Or maybe the smell had nothing to do with it. The tree-trunk sized cock was jammed so far up her torn cunt that it bashed into her stomach. Irae realized with a sudden horror exactly where she was and what was happening.

The trolls, locked up in their coffins. Used to break in the elven whores they’d captured. They’d been a special pair – Vanya and Ahshala. Twin sisters, identical beauties. It seemed especially amusing to stuff them both into a single coffin. The one she was in – Vanya – howled and pressed her bound palms against the thick bulge in her gut, kicking her legs uselessly. Thick cum sloshed down them, filling the bottom of the coffin. Ahshala – the younger sister by scant minutes – only screamed and squirmed against the pair, proving just what a useless cunt she was. Vanya, the fool, was actually thankful that she’d been the one the troll had found his way into first. Irae didn’t need control over a face to sneer, but she found it difficult to even imagine such an expression when so much organ-smashing pain tore through her. It didn’t stop her judgment of the elder sister, or her hatred for the younger with her meaningless screaming and her inability to take any kind of action to save herself. The sisters were weak. And, trapped within one and – once that one finally succumbed to the internal pulverizing the troll gave her – then the other.

Ahshala was worse than her sister. Untouched by the troll, and yet so full of terror. After being forced to experience the worst of what a woman could be tortured with, Irae felt no sympathy for the girl. Only bitterness and resentment that she was being forced to languish within the pathetic creature’s body as she wept for herself when the worst she had to deal with was being crammed into a coffin, tightly packed beside the thoroughly fucked ragdoll that had once been her sister and the creature responsible for her death. The troll seemed to be having the time of his life, continuing to rut into Vanya’s corpse. Her holes were loose and greasy, but still capable of getting the beast off. The coffin was soggy with a growing pool of jizz. It sloshed around Ahshala, clinging to her flesh and soaking through her hair. And still, the little cunt could do nothing but scream and sob. Scream and sob until she was gagging on the thick spunk pouring into her mouth. And as her body jerked and drowned, soaking in the troll’s ejaculate, Irae soaked in the aura of being helpless and weak and – ultimately – worthless.

Irae’s spirit had been broken, reforged, and shattered again. The only thing she had left, and she clung to it with every fiber of her incorporeal being, was the hatred she had. For her goddess and for all the pathetic creatures she was being forced to live as. And even that was wearing thin. Because there was no end in sight. Her memories, and she couldn’t even be convinced they were even all her own anymore, or if they were if they were accurate, were so muddied, so deluded from the suffering. She couldn’t say how long she’d been going through the hell devised for her, or if any end was in sight. There was only the next life, and its painful death. None of them her and yet all of them her. Being the twins, side by side, gave Irae a terrifying glimmer of insight into Kiaransalee’s design.

Everyone. Every single soul I brought to an end in her name. Every drop of blood I spilled for her honor. She’s making me go through them all.

There’d been a time, or at least she thought there’d been a time, where she’d marveled at the body count her not-so-little war had amassed. So many corpses. The thought of them all – the drow and the elves – piled together, rotting into one congealed mass of flesh and puss had sent her into fitful masturbatory frenzies. It wasn’t just the loss of life or how they’d died that drove her wild, but the knowledge that she’d been instrumental in their ends. Without her, none of it would have been possible. Nimor had done his part, certainly, but the man was nothing more than a murderous brute… a knife in her hands. His skills as an assassin had provided a very effective tool for her usage, but she had been the one to arrange the plans, construct the strategies.

And for all of that, for all of my work, all of my success, this is my reward? Please, just make it stop.

Of course, it did not stop. Perhaps, it would never stop. After her double dose of being trapped in the dark, the sudden light – limited though it was in the underdark – seemed blinding despite her like of genuine eyes. As she settled into the new vessel, emotions and memories layered over her own. It was the only part of her ongoing imprisonment that wasn’t painful. And yet, in perhaps the most personal way, it was. Irae would have valued the ability to peer into other people’s minds during her life, but in death the innate ability had become another method of violating her. Death – how did it happen? All of these ends, none of them mine – could not grant her solitude in her own mind. It wasn’t enough to feel all manner of cock, weapon, or toy stuffed into every hole she possessed and – if those lost their charm – fresh wounds made for the fucking. She had to suffer all of the thoughts, all of the emotions, every remote memory from every meaningless day of the lives of each woman she wound up in.

The thoughts forced themselves on her, tried to make her pity the women whose demises she’d orchestrated. At least, that was the best that Irae could think. Some deal Kiaransalee made with another deity… that was the best answer for why this was happening that she could come up with. Irae was just the cost of her bargain. It was the only thing that made sense to her, and even then, it made no sense to her. Kiaransalee did not bargain. Certainly not with a god or goddess that would wish this kind of torment on her greatest acolyte. Softened by such a lengthy span of hell, Irae was more than ready to try some bargaining of her own. Finding an escape seemed too high of a cost, but she could endure the torture a little easier if only she had an answers, any answer at all, to the questions bouncing off the consciousnesses of so many damned women.

The thoughts oozing through her were filled with arrogance fueled by a deeply embedded belief that she was too special to suffer any true horror. Too important to die and too beloved by her goddess to truly suffer. Irae felt a tickle of madness – different than the breed that had consumed Gwynnestri – as she realized who she now was. Matron Mother Quenthel, she thought. She’d not even thought of the dead drow queen in so very long. She’d never realized just how alike they’d truly been. It was a more than a little remarkable, being inside her as her brother handed her a sword and challenged her. The idiot had no skill with a blade, but she’d had every intention of killing Grompf with the blade when she picked it up. More than victory, she’d expected it to be an easy task, as if the universe would simply hand it to her because it was something she desired.

She knew exactly how it would all play out. There she was, after all, lying across the armchair, stripped bare and teasing her breasts. She’d gotten quite a good deal of pleasure out of watching all the terrible things Grompf had done to Quenthel. Stunning pleasure only a few feet away but hopelessly unreachable. Instead, she was forced to endure the queen’s pompousness from outside and from within. Irae wanted more than anything to lie back and laugh at the selfish fool for her steadfast belief that she was better than all others. But she couldn’t. Every passing moment she spent inside Quenthel, through Grompf’s myriad of rapes and tortures, only further underlined the reality that she was just like the dead queen. The same thoughts, or versions of them at least, had rolled through her head so many times. And just like Quenthel, she’d been so very wrong. She’d not been the darling of her goddess, she’d not been too clever, too powerful, too important to escape a terrible fate. Quenthel… herself… they were no different than the lowest of whores rubbing their hairy snatches into the faces of toothless drunkards for a few coins to spend on stale bread.

The grand scheme of things was being revealed to Irae. And she found she hated it. She’d always imagined the grand scheme to be something… grand. Mean-spirited and full of cruelty, perhaps. But not this. Not this petty, meaningless thing where no one – where she – held any value. Quenthel had considered herself to be the most important being in all of creation. Irae knew that as well as she knew the folds of her own cunt. And while her death had been the climax of a change that would never be undone, her existence had meant very little in the grand scheme of things. Irae, herself, had nearly forgotten about the dead queen after all that had come afterward. The eradication of the elven race was certainly something that would be written about in history books until there was no time left in the world to write another recounting of the events. But none of the elves who’d perished to make it possible had meant anything. From the queen down to the drooling idiots who rather liked the taste of their own excrement, their lives were of equal value, measured in the same stretch of suffering before oblivion. They’d done things, things they’d considered meaningful certainly. But when the armies and the assassins and the hunting parties came for them, killed them, it nullified them completely.

It was another thought that had kept Irae warm at night, mostly because everyone else had been so meaningless, while she’d been the truly important one. Finally. It had been hard fought and well won. And she’d been so very certain that no other drow, before her and certainly not after her, could ever amount to such glorious deeds. The thought that she could just as easily become yet another dead, worthless thing had never crossed her mind. She’d rested easy knowing her afterlife would be spent basking in the praise of her goddess, mostly because she’d never expected the day to arrive.

The mental hell she was tumbling through proved to be an effective distraction from the horrors being visited upon Quenthel’s flesh, but one that left her feeling even worse. Fresh horror suddenly shot through her as she realized in the time she’d drifted, days had passed. Grompf’s single-minded and selfish torment of his sister had slackened and suddenly, it was her orchestrating the pain. She looked up into her own face, watching her own smirks of sadism and listening to her own orgasmic sighs as she fingered Quenthel into unwanted releases or lashed her back into raw, bleeding welts. She tasted her own fluids as Irae rode Quenthel’s face, Grompf stuffing his slippery tongue into his sister’s slit. And just like Quenthel’s own mind, Irae felt like a worthless cunt.

The depression only worsened, her mind finally breaking down and allowing all of the pain and weakness she felt to come spilling out of her. She’d sobbed before, screamed, begged, but the hatred in her had kept her grounded. Now, it was no longer enough. Her grip on herself – her real self – slipped away. Quenthel was no vessel. She was Quenthel, and Quenthel was her. She tumbled about in the tortured queen’s mind, powerless to control anything and now fully aware that she was so powerless. And when Grompf finally slipped the silk cord around her throat, she thanked him for finally giving her a way out, already sobbing for whatever new life would be waiting for her on the other side of the veil.

* * *

She’d always wanted to be a soldier. Being an only child, her parents had not approved, but it hadn’t stopped her from fashioning toy swords from sticks and dueling with her toys growing up. It was her uncle who gave her the bow, trained her how to use it. She’d been quite good with the weapon, a natural. She’d kept that bow at her side from then on, during her journey to enlist and through the realization of her childhood dream of becoming a soldier. It had taken some subterfuge on her part to get her superiors to allow her to use her personal bow instead of one assigned to her, but – as far as they knew – she was just better at hitting the mark when she used her uncle’s bow. When the reports came in of the attack, she’d been eagerly looking forward to using it to drop as many of the drow filth as she could.

But the drow filth had been waiting for them – of course, it was a perfect trap to snare them… us – and the fight had gone against them so swiftly that she’d not had any time to live out her dream of being a stunning warrior. The best she could manage was a single panicked shot into a drow soldier’s gut. The small dose of satisfaction she got from the strike was immediately destroyed as the rest of the soldier’s unit swarmed her. They were beasts, all of them, stuffing and groping her with concern only for their own pleasure. She was thankful for that. It kept the experience pure in its foulness. Based on the rising moans of unrestrained, unwanted pleasure pouring out of Nakiasha courtesy of the pack of goblins working her over, she could have been suffering something so much worse. Just give it time. I will be eventually. Or maybe she already had.

When the tight line of her bowstring was brought up against her throat, she felt a sting of shame. She’d been entrusted with the weapon, had grown so skilled with it, but now the family heirloom was being used against her. It would have been bad enough to be felled by arrows launched from the thing, but to be strangled by the string was so much crueler, more personal. The tugging against her throat hammered in her failure with a burning intensity that overshadowed the throbbing pain of the drow’s cock hammering into her ass. She died feeling worthless, pathetic, and utterly disgraced.

* * *

The burlap sack kept her from seeing anything as she was roughly shoved about. It stank of terrified sweat, both stale and fresh. The scar tissue capping the tops of her mangled ears ached. That was nothing new. The agony of shredding off the pointed tips had hurt more than anything she’d ever felt and the pain had never fully gone away. But now the scars were hurting a little more than normal. It could only be the fear coursing through her and the anger. The humans who’d come for her had not bothered to listen to her pleas or her explanations. They’d had a little fun with her as they took her to wherever she was going. With the sack over her head, it had been impossible for her to predict what area of her body they assaulted next The festivities had been intense for a while, but when she was finally dragged out of the back of the wagon and into some building, forced onto her knees, she knew she’d reached the destination they’d set out for.

The sack came off and suddenly she was glaring up into a face that had haunted the nightmares of every elf still alive in the world. It was a face she knew very well – intimately even. He stared down at her with bafflement at first, followed swiftly by amusement. His mocking laughter burned at her, conjuring up bitter memories of all those who’d openly mocked her in the past. Revenge against those who looked down on her had inspired her to commit terrible deeds. The man – Nimor – had helped her accomplish many of those deeds. And now even he was laughing at her, mocking her, seeing her as nothing more than a joke.

Her lips parted, spilling out lies about what she was, denying her heritage, her race. But that was wrong. The heritage was not her own and she did not wish to deny anything. She wanted to punish Nimor for how he was treating her, just like she’d punished so many others who’d made the same foolish mistake. But instead, all she could do was lie, the terror eating away within her, desperate to find some means of escape from the terrible deed these men were planning to commit upon her. And all those lies gave her was more laughter, more mocking. Then the crossbow came out and she dared Nimor to pull the trigger, to cross a line that would mean his certain downfall. He was playing some kind of silly, stupid game, certainly. She’d allowed him too much freedom and he’d taken it and gotten delusions about how much more important he was than she was. The crossbow – the threat of sudden death – was meant to frighten her. If she gave him even an ounce of fear, he’d no doubt lower the weapon and laugh at her some more.

She refused to play along with his sick game. And even if her mouth would not form the words she was trying so hard to get out, she could at least pass the message along through her face, through her unwavering glare up at him. She’d go on glaring at him until he finally relented, begged for her forgiveness, offered her his life in exchange for the offense he’d given her. Against her control, her eyes shifted to the tip of the bolt aimed at her face, and suddenly all of the fear stuffed inside her came spilling out. She barely heard the twang of the crossbow firing, hardly felt the stabbing pain through her head, but as the darkness snapped shut around her, she swore she could hear Nimor’s laughter chasing after her.

* * *

Her strained jaw ached, forced open as the thick slab of stiff flesh plunged further down her constricting throat. The weight of her very soul felt too heavy for her to fight back, mind burdened with the debaucheries she’d already freely committed to save herself courtesy of the defilement of her beloved goddess’s most precious icons. She wished her love of Corona was strong enough to allow her to boldly refuse the drow assassins invading the sacred temple, but seeing what became of the priestesses who had terrified her into acts of desperate salvation. Even so, it didn’t make the acts she was forced to perform any easier. And the drow male fucking her face seemed uninterested in obeying the rules that had been given to the women. His excitement had him attempting to lodge himself as deeply as he could into her throat, and keep himself there. She could only catch brief wafts of his unwashed genitals between urgent gurgles as she choked around him. She pawed at his thighs, bulging eyes stinging with tears and the jabbing of his thick strands of pubic hair. It all felt so unfair, as her vision went grey, that despite all she was willing to do to prolong her life, she would now die because of the exuberance of an overly horny assassin who seemed to like the gulping of her spasming throat muscles just a little too much. There was nothing she could do to escape it. There’d never been anything she could have done to escape it.

There had only ever been the cycle. Suffering, death, more suffering, another death. That’s all she’d ever had and all she ever would have. She was a being with a simple purpose. To be tortured, to be punished, and to be executed. There was no point in questioning the why or the how. She wasn’t worth those answers. She’d never been worthy of anything more than endless pain.

* * *

Suddenly, he was back. What he was doing in her office so late at night, she didn’t know. He shouldn’t have even been in the city. She was more furious at his intrusion and the rough way in which he was handling her than she was afraid of him, at least at the start. There were people who should have kept him from reaching her, who should have killed him before he could become such a threat. Somehow, they’d failed their duties. Thinking about it, the safety net was laughably ineffective, especially when put against an assassin of his caliber. He’d slipped through so many shadows and snuffed out so many lives. Reaching her was a thing of simplicity. But why would he want to hurt her? They were partners.

The strange familiarity she felt for the man suddenly snapped into focus as Irae’s mind and memories overrode Lixiss Raloxisys’s. The tyrannical employer seethed in her impotent outrage, but Irae was more fixed on Nimor. She shrieked up at him, mentally, as he forced himself into her, grinding into her helpless snatch. He could help her figure out what had gone so terribly wrong, but she had to find a way to make him hear her words. Her frustration built as her attempts failed again and again. We’re allies, you fool, she howled. Working together. Why are you doing this? Stop! He saw only lustful murder in his leering gaze, a clear sign of what he intended to do to her. Don’t do this, please, she begged. You have to spare me or you’ll ruin everything. This isn’t my time to die. We still have so much work to do! Please, spare me!

She begged him as he filled her roughly, confused as the interloper entered the room. The little bitch, she thought. She was never a good assistant. Go get help, you stupid cunt!

But the stupid cunt did no such thing. Instead, she had to watch as the man she’d trusted with such an important part of her life’s greatest work strike a bargain with the worthless little whore who’d never delivered a satisfying day’s worth of assistance. He allowed the bitch to do what she liked with her. Rape her, torture her, and – finally – even kill her. That such a worthless bit of flesh been gifted the privilege of executing her enraged her further. At least do it yourself, she thought at Nimor. I deserve that at least.

But he simply stood behind Keya and watched as she was snuffed out, entertained by the young elf’s act of vengeance.

The effort of trying to communicate with Nimor sapped Irae of her sense of self, allowing her to slip into the next vessel and be dragged along for the ride. Rage and disappointment soaked through her as she looked across the field of slaughter, witnessing the failures of her army and the cost of that failure. Her pride refused to let her acknowledge how soundly the drow had outplayed her in terms of strategy and her sense of self-importance left her feeling more secure than her underlings and the enslaved villagers. She was certain she would not be treated with the same disrespect. Her flesh was too valuable to risk, although there was nothing to save the bruising of her pride.

Beaten and captured and with an untold number of violations rapidly approaching, she burned with defiance. The general saved herself from much of the shame that came with being so expertly violated by slipping into a trance-like state, but Irae did not possess such a skill. She was fucked into a daze, left feeling disgusting and exhausted by the time she stepped up to herself. She recalled placing her thumb on the general’s forehead, relishing in the pain her power had caused in the woman, how it had finally managed to break her after so many men had failed to do so. Now that trick was turned against her, and she screamed alongside Syllana as the worst agony she could fathom was forced through her body over the course of a few fleeting moments.

Then came the ogre, and the general gave up any semblance of maintaining the facade she’d kept in place for so long. She showed her fear, her weakness, and her disdain for those she felt were beneath her. It did nothing to save her as her asshole was broken on the ogre’s massive member. The panicked shrieks echoed around her as the beast slowly stretched her head, decapitating her with cruel slowness as her skin stretched and tore and her bones snapped and popped. An odd weightlessness washed over her, followed swiftly by the thick heat of the ogre’s jizz as it blasted through her ragged neck stump and soaked her grimacing face.

The pain faded only momentarily before flaring to new heights. She howled, watching through tear-soaked eyes as the tree’s thick branch was brutally hacked through. Each strike of the drow’s axe was felt in her right shoulder. When the branch finally came free and toppled to the forest floor, she felt as if her own arm had been lopped off, although looking over, she could see it still secured to the rest of her body. She felt fingers close around the throbbing limb as the drow picked up the severed branch. Twisted away and forced onto her hands and knees, more hands grabbed hold of her green-skinned buttocks, prying them apart. The conflict of sensations left her dizzy as she felt her asshole being violated by the branch, while simultaneously feeling the hot walls of her rear stretching and gripping around the solid wood. Left with the bizarre duality of being fucked as well as fucking, she writhed and sobbed on the forest floor until the branch was jammed deep enough through her body to shoot up the back of her throat and punch through the roof of her mouth. As her body seized and voided itself into the leaves, she felt the pulse of her own impaled brain around the branch.

* * *

The stockades creaked around her as her son pumped steadily into her loose snatch. She could not recall the last time either of her children had come to see her, or her father. Such a long time had passed since they’d kept her for themselves, tied to her bed and open for their lust whenever they chose to climb on top of her. She’d given birth to three children while tied to that bed – or had it been five? – before she’d been delivered to the breeding farm. Her will to fight had died the day the drow men revolted, when her family turned on her and made her their personal whore. Using her to give them offspring hadn’t been a part of their plan, she suspected, but they’d been quite amused when their seed had impregnated her. Now, more than two dozen births later, she’d long ago given up the will to even live.

After becoming just another drow breeder bitch, it was impossible for her to know whether the children she birthed were the byproduct of her incestuous family or some random rapist who stalked through the crowded warehouse. Her sons had certainly visited her enough times that it was possible more than a few of the children belonged to them. Her father seemed content with only using her ass, uninterested in baring any more spawn. Whenever he came, after he finished packing her bowels with his seed, he made sure she sucked his soiled member clean before rewarding her with a hot mouthful of his urine. She wasn’t sure how many times he’d gone through the routine, but it was enough that the pungent taste of his waste no longer made her puke.

Her youngest son grunted behind her, hammering into her with easy strokes. Her pussy gaped permanently, stretched out from the multitude of births. His hands reached around to squeeze at her sagging, swollen tits, forcing spurts of creamy milk from her puffy nipples. The lengthy suffering felt so much longer, though. Because she’d been in this warehouse before, she suddenly realized. Not in this body, but in another. A sudden jolt of realization crashed over Irae as a cascade of buried experiences blossomed within her. Time held little meaning for her when eternity stretched forward and backward endlessly, but she realized – by mortal standards – she had to have been enduring this unwarranted punishment for thousands of years. If she was meant to experience every end from the rebellion and the genocide she’d orchestrated, that time would have to be drawing to a close. The death toll had been the greatest the world had ever known, but surely she had to be near the end of it.

The breeding warehouse was filled with the moans and groans of other drow women. Irae’s hope sparked as she realized she recognized some of the sounds. Remembered making the sounds. At the same time, she realized there were others she’d never heard before, or at least, never made before. The inert woman rocking in her bondage as her son drove into her from behind stared out at her fellow slaves, allowing Irae to feel a rising dread as she recognized so few of the drow women. The ones she’d been already she spotted instantly, as if being a part of them had allowed her to recognize them even from a third-person perspective. But there were far more who remained a mystery to her.

As Aunrae’s youngest son squirted his load into her and left his mother to work on developing whatever fetus was currently gestating inside her, Irae was left to drink in the horror that despite all of the lives she’d gone through already, she’d not even come close to reaching the end of her ordeal. Despite her decades of abuse and her worn out state, Aunrae possessed a strength that kept her alive against her wishes. Irae was forced to watch as other drow women around her expired. Some of the deaths were icy reminders of a life she’d experienced already, while others were gruesome previews into her own future. Finally, dozens of births and more than a century later, Aunrae’s body succumbed to the stress of passing a child through her gaping birth canal, shuddering into death within the stockades. Only then was Irae free.

* * *

Her wings twitched with unease as such horror, such pain squeezed around her. Looking up at herself, eager for a show of supplication, she blubbered out pleas of forgiveness from her defiled goddess left on display. The Avariel, Irae thought with a sudden jolt of awareness. Corona’s two other handmaidens were already slaughtered. Which meant this was the one who lived. It was hard to see herself through the glaze of tears leaking from Erlan’s eyes as she cast away her goddess and pleaded for her life.

No, Irae shrieked from her mental prison. Kill her, she urged herself. Kill me! You don’t trust her servitude. You’ll do everything in your power to make sure she’s truly broken. Don’t do it, please! Just butcher her like you did the others! Please, don’t make me live this! Not this time!

But just like every other moment of time she’d experienced, Irae had no power to alter the course of events. She could only watch them play out and endure the horror of it all. The shock collar snapped closed around her throat and, as it did, Irae’s mind turned to the hundreds of years the surviving Avariel had gone through after this moment. She’d been present for much of it, witnessing it from the outside. Hardly a moment would pass through the centuries without Erlan suffering in some way or another. Her torture was nearly as masterful an orchestration as had been done to Corona. And with her goddess forsaken and dead, there was no means for the Avariel to even find an ounce of mental comfort. She would go on living, regretting her moment of weakness for self-preservation, lamenting the opportunity she’d let so casually slip away. And Irae was forced to take the ride alongside her, despising the winged bitch for that moment, despising herself for not simply killing the last handmaiden.

As the years dragged on and on, Irae dreaded the Avariel’s finale. When the greased tip of the spit was finally shoved up her upraised ass, she strained to turn back time to the moment Erlan had supplicated herself. On that point, both Irae and the Avariel were in perfect rhythm. The spit slid through her body with expert precision, emerging from her gaping mouth. The heat of the low burning fire washed over her as she was set in place and sent slowly rotating over the roasting pit. Erlan’s durability allowed her to survive the slow cooking process. She was still whimpering when her smoking, golden-brown husk was removed from the spit. Irae felt each cut as the winged elf’s body was carved up and served to the table of high-profile guests. Delirious from the pain and shock, Erlan wondered if she tasted as good as she smelled. Irae knew that she’d tasted far better, remembering each morsel of Avariel flesh she’d slipped into her mouth, chewing delicately at every bite to squeeze every drop of flavor she could from the meat.

The banquet lasted the majority of the night. Erlan was little more than scraps by the time the meal came to an end, but still very much alive. The meat cleaver finally put an end to it all, hacking through Erlan’s neck in three hard slams. The Avariel’s head would be reanimated, like so many others, and left as a macabre trophy in Irae’s room. She remembered teasing the head mercilessly, occasionally taking it down from its post to use when her hand was not enough to satisfy her. After centuries of torture and rape and the lengthy demise, Irae was only thankful that the hell she’d been forced into did not include the experiences of the reanimated flesh she’d made over the years.

Or perhaps those experiences were being saved for later.

* * *

It was the end. She was the last one left. Or, at least, she thought she was. It was so hard for her to know for sure after living the entirety of her young life in solitude with her mother. The drow assassin who she swore she’d once called a partner had made her watch her mother die. A tickling in her head told her she wasn’t the truly the last. Perhaps the last of her kind, but not the last one to die. There would be others waiting for her once this man finished doing what he liked with her. The sense of feeling is if everything might soon be over, after so very long, offended her. She’d given up on finding a true end many lifetimes ago. She’d given up on begging this familiar face for mercy as well. She’d seen him so many times, always the callous aggressor, deaf to her silent pleas. The whole thing played out like a performance piece, only the actors were taking their jobs far too seriously.

The sex, at least, was long and not as violent as many of the encounters she’d had previously. He took his time with her, even forced her to feel some pleasure despite her terror. She clung to those brief flashes of ecstasy, never wanting to let them go. Eventually, he revealed a truth to her about her very being. But the words sounded wrong in her head. Not that she was half drow, but that she could have ever been half elf. But perhaps she’d been wrong about that. Perhaps that had been why her skin was such a pale color. Perhaps that was why she’d been damned to suffer the way she had for so very long. A critical mistake, something she’d never known about herself, had damned her to the afterlife of the elves instead of the glory she’d no doubt earned herself in the post-death embrace of Kiaransalee.

That was it. That had to be it. A trick. A loophole used by Vhaerun to claim her so that he could have one more woman to torment for an eternity. If that were the truth, and she had to believe it was, there might still be a way out for her. Kiaransalee would be looking for her, would be furious at the lack of respect given to her most cherished of servants. She only needed to find some means of communicating with her goddess. Or wait for her goddess to find her. Either way, she hoped the moment came soon. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take, but she knew she would have to take it forever.

Suddenly, the noose was around her neck and she was dancing in the air. The foolish girl teased her assassin’s member with her feet, desperately hoping that playing his game might earn her some salvation. Irae wanted to tell the stupid twat to die with some dignity, but she seemed content to debase herself and she was rewarded only with the sticky feeling of jizz between her toes as she journeyed into death followed by the rude jab of the broomstick being rammed up her ass.

* * *

The moment came. Her greatest moment of triumph and her greatest moment of failure. With all of her followers either dead or thoroughly corrupted, she lacked the strength to break free from the chains binding her. She wasn’t even sure she would be strong enough to survive the massive dragon prick hovering over her. But, of course, she could. Even a defeated goddess was still a goddess. And she knew she survived the brutal penetration, despite all the damage it caused her. She’d watched herself survive it, and so much more, before she was finally snuffed out.

Irae’s awareness snapped into focus, remembering that she was not Corona. And that her goddess was only a few feet away. She screamed out at Kiaransalee, knowing she was nothing more than a memory in this sick performance. It didn’t stop her from begging her goddess to notice her, notice what had been done to her, offer her rescue from the undeserved fate she’d fallen into. She did not expect any answer to her calls. She’d been in this temple before, in this scene before, several times from the perspective of every other victim present and Kiaransalee had never once deviated from her scripted routine.

_Please! Please! Help me!_

This time, she did.

Kiaransalee turned and looked down at her. Not at Corona, but Irae. An unamused smirk filled the non-rotten half of her goddess’s face. “Why should I waste even a single breath to help such a pitiful disappointment?”

_Disappointment? How? All of this, all I did in your name! And I’m only a disappointment?_

Kiaransalee rolled her eyes. “And such a fool, too. Your arrogance far outreached your grasp. So much so that it’s followed you even into death.” She gave a casual wave of her hand to signify the scene they were in the midst of. Chaullusin’s massive cock was stuffed into Corona now, churning her insides into slop as he transformed the goddess into a blown out fuck-skin. “You actually believe this was something you were capable of accomplishing, but it was that very arrogance which kept it from coming to pass. Your idiotic attitude kept this glory from me. And that is a crime I can never forgive.”

_But it did happen! I remember it! I remember it all!_

The goddess frowned at Irae, a flicker of something that almost looked like true pity crossing her harsh face. “Oh, you poor, pathetic wretch. Haven’t you learned by now that your memories are not to be trusted? Allow me to show you something you can trust to be real. It seems only fair since we’ve reached the finale of this timeline of events. But don’t worry, I’ve been fantasizing about how my revenge over those who wronged me could go for thousands of years… I already have the next possibly ready for you to live through, and the one after that, and the one after that, and…”

* * *

Irae’s flesh tingled with excitement, her muscles still relaxed from the thorough massage Lashrae had given her. The masseuse had sent word that he’d managed to arrange a meeting between her and Nimor and she’d hurried back to his parlor for the fateful meeting. She had such grand plans to share with the assassin, not only for the future of Menzoberranzan, but for the world at large. In her mind, the outcome of things was already fixed. She’d spent so very long fantasizing about all of the possibilities, all of the revenge she would have on those who’d underestimated her and cast her aside over the years, all of the glory she would deliver to Kiaransalee. She was so thrilled to get started that the thought of betrayal so early on in her schemes was a possibility she never considered.

Arriving early, Lashrae offered her another massage to pass the time before Nimor’s arrival. With the memory of his talented hands still working her body over still fresh in her mind, she agreed. She even offered to allow him to be a little forward this time around. A little pre-emptive celebration of what was to come. If Nimor arrived before they’d finished, that was fine. She felt no shame for her sexual desire and she’d always found it easier to strike bargains with people after she’d pleasured them. She’d welcome him to join in, have a little fun before they got down to the grim business they had together.

The massage oils were warm across her skin, tingling in a way she didn’t recall them doing before. She thought little of it, completely ignoring the fact that Lashrae had slipped on a pair of gloves before commencing the massage. When her cunt was wet and primed for penetration, Irae made an attempt to roll over and spread her legs for the masseuse only to find that her body was unresponsive to the effort. The harder she strained, the less control she realized she had. From the back of her neck down to the tips of her toes, it felt as though someone had poured heavy lead into her muscles. Anger and worry filled Irae. She demanded answers from the masseuse. He replied with only a dark chuckle. She lifted her head to see Nimor stepping out from the shadows, looking across the room at her with amused satisfaction.

The two men worked together, their gloved hands gripping Irae’s flesh tightly as they completed the task she’d been so willing and yet unable to perform only a few moments ago. Rolling her onto her back, the pair circled around her, looking over her helpless form with sadistic lust. Irae shrieked at them, telling them what a mistake they were making, how they were ruining all of her great plans. The men did not care. They let her watch as they leisurely stripped, baring their obsidian flesh and stiff members to her. Irae’s cunt was still damp, but the desire to fuck had left her. She called on her goddess for aid as they moved in on her, getting only silence in return. It was a desperate plea and one she’d not expected to work. Kiaransalee spared no time for those she deemed unworthy. And to stumble so blindly into such an obvious trap made her most unworthy. After striving for so long to disprove the common belief surrounding her, she’d unwittingly lived up to the low expectations.

With no other means of expressing her emotional torment, she fell into half-sobs, half-screams of rage as Lashrae pushed her milky thighs apart and climbed on top of her. Her muscles were paralyzed but not dead to feeling. She endured the mocking tease of his cockhead as he dragged it across the folds of her cunt. Nimor stepped before her, gripping her by the hair and yanking her head back. Hooking his thumbs into her mouth, he forced her jaw open and held it open to keep her from using the only means of attack she had left as he pushed his way into her mouth, gagging her screams. Drool sloshed from her mouth and ran down her face as he plugged her throat, driving forward with firm strokes that left his heavy balls smacking against the bridge of her nose. Her gurgling intensified as Lashrae finally shoved his way into her pussy. The twin slabs of meat piercing her at either end as her body lay listlessly between the men became the rhythmic fleshy drumbeat of the song of her failure.

Nimor and Lashrae used Irae as if she were nothing. It went against everything she believed about herself. Her self-importance, the grand things she’d planned, all of it meant nothing to them. They saw her as nothing more than a set of tight, warm holes to give them pleasure. Irae wished she had some argument to the contrary, but those arguments – and they were good, strong arguments – were trapped in a future she would never be allowed to witness. This Irae – the true Irae – was a failure filled with wicked yet impotent thoughts of revenge and genocide. She choked on Nimor’s cum as it fired down her gullet, a fair amount of the creamy seed pouring from her stretched lips to drain over her flushed face.

Stepping back, Nimor gave Irae a long, considering look before starting to redress. “I thank you for the invitation,” he told Lashrae, still pumping away into Irae’s cunt. “But I think I’ve had all I desire from this one. My time is better spent on things of greater value.”

Lashrae gripped the flesh of Irae’s right tit, pinching down on her nipple as hard as he could in lieu of leaning forward to bite at it. The last thing he wanted was to accidentally paralyze his own mouth. “What should I do with her when I’m finished?”

Nimor shrugged, already turning away from the scene, bored by the pathetic sight of Irae. “Cast it into the nearest refuse heap. No one will care. She’s just a Szarkai. Even in this cursed city ruled by women, she’s nothing of any significance. She never was.” He looked back at his conspirator and his inert victim, giving Irae a cruel wink. “And she never will be.”

And then he was gone, slipped back into the shadows and out of the room. 

To say the meeting had not gone as Irae had planned was a supreme understatement. She cursed Nimor and his nearsighted vision, wishing him the worst of fates for not even giving her the opportunity to show him what she was capable of. Her plans were good plans. They would have succeeded. On that point, Irae was still certain. Left paralyzed and in the clutches of the despicable masseuse, she could only hope that whatever drug was in the massage oils wore off before he grew tired of her body. She would dispatch the man and then hunt down Nimor, killing him slowly for his disrespectful attitude. Then she would find someone else to work with, someone capable of genuine thought and strategy, not some idiot of an assassin.

Withdrawing from Irae’s cum-stuffed pussy, Lashrae hooked his hands under the albino drow’s knees and lifted her legs up, bending them back across her shoulders. He angled his still erect prick against her asshole, scooping some of his jizz from her cunt to lubricate the orifice before working his way into her. Irae’s arms slipped off the sides of the massage table, swaying gently back and forth in time with the masseuse’s hard pumps. Her head remained rolled back, the paralytic effects of the oils having worked their way down into her neck. Even the winces of discomfort that rolled across her face felt sluggish. She wanted to resume her screams, her threats, but found that she couldn’t. She wanted to believe that her sudden mute state was also a result of the oils, but she knew that was not the case. Her ego was too wounded to defy the reality of her situation.

Crying out, Lashrae came into Irae’s bowels. Thoroughly spent, he tugged the paralyzed drow fully onto the table, dragging her head back into place. He climbed off the table and let her lie there, utterly ignored, as he tidied up his workspace. Although her limp flesh had satisfied him far faster than she would have liked, Irae was thankful for his neglect, using the time to continue testing her muscles, urging them back to a workable state. Despite her strained efforts, she could only lie there, disregarded like the useless slab of trash she’d become. Lashrae finally returned to her after an hour, slipping a cheap towel underneath her head and neck and slipping an empty bucket beneath the table. When she saw the dagger in his hand, Irae cast aside her illusions of self-importance.

“Please,” she gasped. “You don’t understand. I can give you a future you never dreamed possible.”

Her words meant nothing to the masseuse. He jabbed the tip of the dagger into Irae’s neck, piercing her carotid artery. Blood sprayed from the small wound, gushing over her throat and splattering across her panicked face. It soaked through the towel beneath her, leaving it a dark crimson before thick strands of her blood leaked into the bucket beneath her. Lashrae watched as she gasped and whined and sobbed, pale flesh growing even paler as she bled out at a rapid pace. As darkness crept into Irae’s vision, she saw Kiaransalee waiting for her in the void.

The goddess did not look pleased.

In a flash of sudden self-awareness, Irae realized that while she’d now witnessed her true end, this was not the first time she’d experienced it. She remembered the goddess promising her an endless assortment of fates to carry her on into the future, but now she remembered that this was not the first time she’d gone through a timeline. She’d been here before. How many times, she couldn’t know… in her minds eye, as far back as her sanity would let her go, a yawning infinity stretched behind her, every bit as vast as what lay ahead of her. Dozens upon dozens of potentials timelines, ways that Kiaransalee’s vengeance of the Drow and the Surface Elves could have gone, timelines she had already made Irae suffer through from the perspective of each and every single victim. 

It stretched back as far as she could think. It stretched forward as far as she could think. And in that single moment of insane lucidity, of perfect, horrible clarity, Irae at last understood the meaning of the word “eternity.”

As she pleaded with Kiaransalee for a second chance, an opportunity to do things right, Irae knew that – after a time – she would lose herself and her memories all over again, beaten down by a cascade of suffering and death until she eventually found her way back to her true fate once more. Already, though, her lucidity was fading again… lost in the madness of the agony as a new timeline of suffering began for her. Already she felt new memories flooding into her, memories of a victorious conquest that had never been, memories of life and identity and arrogance and triumph to contrast with the suffering she was going to be made to feel. And again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again.

The only way to escape her fate was to show mercy to the elves in her false "life" before suffering... but she lost her memories of the truth each time. Irae knew herself well enough that she would never do that.

The only possibility she had for escape would come from Kiaransalee’s forgiveness.

And having been such a devoted acolyte of the goddess during her years of life, Irae knew she would never earn that forgiveness.

Ever.

THE END


End file.
